The Wolf of Highever
by Shenko007
Summary: Legends and myths surround the Cousland Family. Hadrian thinks they're merely bedtime stories and while some monsters refuse to stay as such, he'll find that there's more to life than just revenge and that wolves mate for life. Alistair/M!Cousland. AUish
1. Chapter 1

Full Summary: How do you react when everything has been taken from you, when darkness itself seems to swallow you whole as your journey for vengeance is seeped in blood and torment? Hadrian is fully prepared to give all of himself to his quest for vengeance but finds himself as a pawn in a game that has been in play by the Old Gods for centuries and that Alistair plays an important role in his destiny. Various pairings involved such as: Alistair/Hadrian (male), Fergus/?, Loren Amell (male)/Cullen, Anders/Arren Hawke(male), Carver/Merrill and Nathan Howe/?

A/N: As my first fanfic for this awesome game, please provide much needed support, appreciation, and helpful ideas in reviews! :D

This story will be AU in some parts.

Chapter 1: Wolf's Beginning

_0 years_

The birthing of any child is deemed as a miracle by the Chantry Priests, except maybe for the mages in some eyes. The Cousland Family, however, deemed themselves lucky enough to not have a mage in the family, as predicted by one of their Mages assigned to them.

Bryce heard the howling of a wolf somewhere and felt something calling him to the woods that surrounded their Castle. He hadn't wanted to leave his wife alone in her labours but duty dictated him to answer the calling. He called for one of the midwives and a small elven woman walked briskly to him, a white hand cloth in her hands. She was clearly on her way to his wife, to help clean her up for the baby's coming into the world. She bowed her head in respect for her superior and Bryce accepted her acknowledgement. He informed her of where he would be should anything happen to his lovely wife and/or the baby. Her head nodded and went ahead to the birthing chambers.

He walked into his quarters and locked the door behind him, not wanting any unwanted intruders. He carefully dressed into clothes more suitable for the woods and was just about to leave his suite when he sensed something standing behind him. Apparently, Zarieth was being considerate tonight. The Blue Wolf was sitting patiently on its haunches, positioned near the large king-sized bed.

_It is time._ The idea of time resonated in Bryce's head and he nodded. He took out his hand and lightly sliced his palm with a small silver knife. He connected the hand with the immense paw of Zarieth. A soft glow emanated from where the two beings were connected and Bryce gasped at the connection that had flared to life. He could almost feel the bond between strengthen and when asked if he wanted to include his newest son into this, he could only nod in reply. As quickly as it had started, the glow vanished and the hands separated.

_Your young pup_, Bryce could almost see the grin on the wolf's face. _He is destined for great things. _

_I hope to be there for him when he accomplishes them_. Then the grin disappeared, replaced by a saddened look in the wolf's eyes. Zarieth rose up on all fours and moved closer to him. Bryce, despite having known this creature for most of his life, still instinctively flinched when the large creature loomed over him quite dangerously.

_It is not my place to tell you of your fate but our kind has always_…An idea of warmth and deep trust seeped through the older man and Bryce understood what Zarieth was trying to convey to him. _Ever since your ancestor saved our High Lord, we have always watched over you. Keep your friends close, Bryce, but your enemies closer._

The blue wolf disappeared, leaving behind a very concerned man. Zarieth rarely addressed him by his human name. What did the wolf mean by that? Time was no longer afforded to him for further musings when someone gave a polite knock on the door. He emitted a light curse when he forgot to clean up his hurt palm. He looked down at the hand, expecting to see an angry scratch and was shocked to find nothing there at all. No blood, not even a scar. The door opened quietly and there was the same elf again, except this time she had an ecstatic look on her face.

"Milord, please come to your wife and your new son!"

His concerns were immediately replaced by feelings of elation and joy. Unlike his parents, who just wanted one child, he and Eleanor had wanted more kids. Unfortunately, birthing was a painful event, for both parents, and Bryce considered himself lucky that he now has two sons to look after. He dusted off his doublet, wanting to look his best in front of his sweet Eleanor and his family. The Cousland Elder closed the door behind him and he followed the elf down the hallway. Soldiers that patrolled the hallway stopped and saluted him with a hand on the chest. He returned the salutes with a brief nod and walked very quickly to the cleaning room, where his wife was.

If Bryce wasn't expecting a child tonight, he would have thought a demon came in here and slaughtered his lovely wife while she slept in bed. There was the pungent smell of blood that pierced his keen sense of smell and the sheets were scattered around her, the red stains standing out in stark contrast to the original whiteness. Midwives were hovered around her, one soothing the pale lady in bed with a cloth dabbing her face while another attempted to gather the dirty sheets in her arms. Another lady was there, dressed in an unusual attire of light blue robes that were embroidered on the bottom with golden gems. She was like the servants around her: small, slender, and point-eared. He would have thought her a blood mage originally, seeing so much blood in one place at one time. However, Bryce had summoned the elven mage a day ago to help Eleanor with the pains of childbirth. Also, he knew the mage very well, since her mother was in direct service to the Cousland family. In fact, it was her mother who was in charge of all the elven servants and made sure things were running smoothly in the castle, domestic-wise.

"Ariala," The elven mage turned to see who had called her and her lips slightly curved upwards. She bowed her head in deference to Bryce and turned her attention to the pale woman in bed. "How is she?"

"She is fine, milord. As is your son,"

A cooing sound could be heard from the bundle of blankets his wife had in her arms and a pale face peeked out. His heart swelled in joy and his hand gently peeled back the white blanket that covered his son's face. His son had the most startling blue eyes, almost as bright as the blue wolf's. He could almost see a slightly wolfish quality in the baby and he smiled, knowing that Zarieth was right. This boy would do great things in the world.

"Isn't he beautiful, my husband?" A weak voice whispered to him and his eyes sought out the face of his wife. Bryce was a little concerned to see the dark circles under her eyes, the pale and withdrawn features of her face. His concern must have been plain to everyone around him for she gave him a gentle smile and said in a soothing tone, "don't worry, Bryce. I am just tired."

"I have already sent for Fergus," Eleanor managed to say before coughing slightly. The Mage's hand immediately placed itself on her forehead and some colour started to come back. The flush on her cheeks disappeared and there was the more natural rouge covering her face. "Thank you, Ariala. I feel much better."

The mage smiled at her patient and she turned to Bryce, clearly wanting to say something to him before leaving the family.

"She will be fine, milord. Just lots of rest and some quiet for the next two weeks."

"Thank you for your efforts. Your mother is expecting you in her room. I gave her some time off for the next few days so you both can see each other."

Ariala was quite stunned at the generosity of the Cousland's offer. Her mother had always been telling her in her letters that Bryce was a rare human lord, kind, generous and most particular very protective of his servants. Unlike most banns and teryns, he treated them warmly and like a family too. Although propriety dictates the Cousland Teryn to distance himself from his lowly servants, he would have none of that in his castle. He made sure the elves had time off when it was possible and enforced harsh punishments on those who violently protested against the elves. Their rooms, though plain in colours and quality, were quite spacious and clean. Ariala had personally seen what men would do to lovely elves as sometimes it would occur in the circle, despite the presence of First Enchanter Irving and Sir Gregoir.

Bryce chuckled at seeing the stunned look on the Mage's face and he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flushed and then bowed before him. Then, she murmured something in an ancient tongue and suddenly, clean sheets displaced the bloody ones and the room's temperature increased slightly to give the room a cozy feeling. Happy with the arrangement, she gestured to the servants to follow her out, leaving the trio in peace.

A little boy ran up to the room, unheeding of all the female servants departing the room. He stood in the doorway, unsure whether he could enter and join his parents or not. His mother must have noticed his arrival for she made a motion with her hand. Bryce looked up to see his oldest son scrambling towards them and his hand firmly planted itself on his shoulder, trying to calm him so as not to wake the baby.

"Fergus, come and see your new brother," Eleanor called out to her oldest son, who stood beside his father. The four-year old almost jumped from his position and he took a few steps forward to his mother's bed, all the while staring at the moving bundle in his mother's arms.

"He's so small, mummy," Fergus commented. The little brunette stood on his tiptoes to see the baby and marveled at how tiny his brother was. Both of his brother's hands fit in Fergus' hand, with some room to spare in the palm.

"That's because he is just a baby, pup," Bryce said, ruffling his son's hair. The boy grumbled at having his hair be in disarray and was just about to say something when the baby made a cooing sound. He regarded the newest member of the family and his grin broadened at the possible pranks he could play on his youngest brother.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I'm on a roll, at least for DA. I hope I didn't just jinx myself. Happy reading!

Chapter 2: A Big Brother's Antic

9 years later

A shadow crept into the suite of the youngest Cousland, its sleeper unaware of its visitor. The unknown person carefully tiptoed to the bed and placed a small silver bowl on the nightstand. Hadrian shifted in his sleep, causing the visitor to pause and wait for him to settle again. Once Hadrian moved into a comfortable position, the person then carefully placed the small hand in a bowl of hot water that was conveniently laid right next to the nightstand. At first nothing happened, much to the visitor's dismay. Then, a soft moan echoed loudly in the bedroom and the visitor saw Hadrian curl on his side, grinning at the sight of a wet spot pooling around his thighs. He knew the signs of Hadrian waking up: the slight flutter of eyes, a soft groan, and the legs becoming restless. Quickly, he darted out of the bedroom, not wanting to be there when his little brother wakes up.

A sudden shriek pierced the stillness of the early morning hours, waking everybody up, including his parents. Bryce was startled out of his nice dream that had Eleanor in it and doing some very explicit things to him. He grabbed his dirk that was stored away underneath the bed but a hand stayed him, with a soft mumbling coming from his wife.

"…don't bother. It's Fergus giving Hadrian a hard time." She yawned and rolled over to her right side.

"Honey, how?"

"Trust me, my brothers played pranks on each other all the time."

Soft snores emanated from her and Bryce, trusting his wife's words, placed the dirk back to its original place. He curled around his beautiful wife and closed his eyes, letting the smell of her scent waft over him and lull him to sleep. He would definitely have to talk with Fergus about this. But first, sleep.

The other sleepy inhabitants did the very same thing, too used to the pranks that were occurring more and more often. Unfortunately, Fergus was not so lucky in his getaway and, several hours later, found out the hard way that washing out pink dye in his hair was a pain. Of course, the 14 year old perceived that he deserved it and he silently applauded his brother's smart comeback. Once fully dressed in a blue doublet that neatly hung over his pants made out of Antivan silk, he proceeded to head out to the Dining Quarters, where the family was waiting for him. As soon as he entered, everyone stared at him and he immediately knew that there was something wrong. Bryce made a sound that was suspiciously skin to a snicker before quickly composing himself under Eleanor's disapproving stare. Fergus' youngest brother, Hadrian, did his very best to look stoic but, like his father, was not successful either. Instead, he burst out in laughter, holding his head in his hands as he pointed out the new hairstyle his brother wore.

"Sweetheart, you may want to redo your hair with the proper soap." Eleanor said gently to the blushing teenager, who slowly walked back out and then rushed outside to his quarters. "Hadrian, you are going to wash your own sheets, young man."

"Aww, but mum!"

"No buts! If you hadn't tinkered with Fergus' hair soap, he would be washing them instead."

The nine year old sighed and continued eating his breakfast. Before doing so, he caught his father's wink and smiled at his successful attempt in having revenge on his brother.

**Preview of Chapter 3**: Once a boy reaches his thirteenth year, he undergoes an Initiation Ceremony of the Rite of Passage. Each noble house does this differently and the Couslands are no exception.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Initiation Ceremony of the Rite of Passage

_4 years later_

Dawn broke out, her fingers reaching as far as the Cousland Castle and beyond. The yellow light, wherever it could get through the clouds, shone into Hadrian's room and he made a noise, trying to get away from the bright glare. He pulled at the covers that had fallen around his waist earlier in the night and tried to cover his head. Unfortunately, he hadn't known that Fergus painted the covers with whipped cream and there was a soft 'splift' sound when the cover went over his head, covering his face with white stuff.

"Maker's balls, Fergus!" Hadrian shouted hoarsely, his frustration growing at being woken so rudely by the sun and then given a sticky surprise for his birthday. His oldest brother hadn't done anything to him, prank-wise, for the past week or so. Hadrian had a feeling that he was just biding his time, to wait for the perfect moment to strike. Of course Fergus had to _something_ for his birthday and Hadrian was going to get some payback.

The poor Cousland grumbled curses when he found the whipped cream to be everywhere, even in his groin. He gave up trying to get back to sleep and ignore the stickiness. Instead, he let out a sound of frustration and got out of bed. There was a knock on the door and he grunted a reply, "yeah, if you don't mind seeing me naked with white cream all over my arse,"

It wasn't Fergus at the door but his mother and Hadrian knew he was in big trouble for using foul language, even at a young age. Getting over her initial shock at seeing her naked son, Hadrian could tell that she was getting angry by the deepening redness on her cheeks, the vein almost popping out of her forehead. She was tolerant of many things, but never foul language and she probably heard his first curse of the day.

"Hadrian, your brother's," she stopped for a second and Hadrian was afraid that she either was going to slap across the cheek or faint dead away from seeing her son covered in the most expensive whipped cream they had at home. She took a deep breath and marched towards him, her intent in punishing him clear in her green eyes. He winced at her raised hand but the smack never came. Instead, the hand was gently clasping his cheek, in a spot where there wasn't any cream. Confused by her actions, he looked at her in puzzlement and saw a smile on her face.

"It appears that your brother gave you a present and I will excuse your usage of foul language so early in the morning for today. It is your birthday in fact."

"Errmm..." Hadrian didn't know what to say to that and his feet shuffled awkwardly.

His mother was acting rather strangely and before he could say anything, she kissed him on the forehead and left the room. She glanced at him one more time and shook her head.

"Of all the creams we had, he had to use the most expensive one!" She exclaimed, "well, clean yourself off and come to the Antechamber. Your father has something special for you."

The door shut behind her. Luckily for Hadrian, he had his own cleaning room. Twenty minutes later, fully refreshed and feeling clean, the young Cousland hurried to where his father was. Fergus was there, a stupid smile plastered on his pale face. His parents stood in front of the large fireplace, with his father quirking an eyebrow at him. _Damn! Did I miss a spot_? Hadrian hastily looked down at his silk tunic but there was nothing to be found. Fergus' shit-eating grin just grew larger at his little brother's flusters and he truly made a big effort in not just bursting out in laughter. _Poor Hadrian! He has no idea what he's in for!_ Hadrian threw a glare at him but he strolled inside the chamber, trying not to look at Fergus.

"It appears that Hadrian received his first present," Bryce's voice rumbled and Hadrian could hear it held a hint of amusement. "However, unto serious matters. Today is when you start becoming a man. As you probably observed from Fergus' thirteenth winter's harvests, you will know that two items will be given to you: a sword of the finest make," Bryce offered the sword that was in its scabbard to his youngest with two hands and the Cousland's head bowed in thanks.

"This sword has been handed down from generation to generation. In fact it was the sword of King Calenhad himself before he gave it to our ancestor as a gift."

True to Bryce's words, the sword was of excellent quality as Hadrian could see from the unusual brilliance in the dragonbone material when he withdrew it partway to see the blade. Even the scabbard was made of the finest material. He could feel it hum through his fingers when he caressed the markings on it. The scabbard was decorated with vines wrapping themselves around it, starting from the tip and stretching all the way to the hilt of the sword. He rubbed his fingers over the visage of a wolf that was etched right below the spot where the sword met the hilt. The wolf was the symbol of the Cousland, although he didn't know why exactly. Yes, he had been told of how his ancestor saved a wolf and perhaps that spurred him to honour it by emblazoning its face on the shields of Highever. However, why go to such lengths in doing so? The other nobles had the outlines of animals scoured into their own weapons and shields, but Hadrian hadn't heard of any particular tales behind it. He had read of one book though that mentioned a very old Order, one that spawned from the wars with the Tevinter Imperium. This Order respected the griffons and it was easily visible through the noble features of the animal. Every claw, every limb would drawn in great detail.

It seemed as if his parents were waiting for him to clearly revere his gift because when he looked up at his father, he was waiting patiently with his mother at his side, something small in her hands. She approached him as Bryce started to say:

"And an amulet that contains our locks of hair. Ariala magically imbued the amulet to where if you touch a particular lock, it will provide you with an image of its owner."

His mother reached out around his neck and clasped the necklace into place under his still silver hair. Unlike Fergus', it had _not _darken with age. Fergus' hair turned into a charcoal shade of black around his age and Hadrian wondered if there was any significance to his silver strands. Again, Hadrian had noticed that there was a visage of a wolf etched on the front and back of the silver amulet. What was with all these symbols of the wolf? Was there something his parents weren't telling him? Did Fergus know somehow? His mother kissed him on both cheeks, causing him to blush at being given such attention. He was a man now. He didn't want to be given any kisses by his mother or anyone else.

Eleanor Cousland knew what her boy was thinking as soon as she observed his cheeks redden with embarrassment. _Just like Fergus! _Her boys were growing up so fast and it felt like as if it was only yesterday that Hadrian was born into this world, into her family. She stepped back and returned to Bryce's side, to let her husband finish what he had to say.

"To complete your rite of passage, you will have to do two things: to enter the woods and bring back a rare flower. It will have yellow petals but with a purple centre. The flower blooms only once a year and in the spring months. The other part is to participate in the Summermere Tournament, where all other nobles will gather and compete for the Championship of Arms."

_By the Maker, I wish I was ten years old still! So many chores to do!_ An elbow jabbed him in the ribs and he straightened up immediately, although not without giving Fergus a returning blow.

"You will enter the woods early in the morning tomorrow for it will take you all day to find this flower. Seven guards are to be posted outside the gates and if you do not return in time, then there will be a search party. Mind you, if that's the case, you will have to live in the woods for sometime."

At first Hadrian thought his father to be joking after making that statement but his father's eyes were very serious. After the Initiative Ceremony of his Manhood, he hung out with Fergus, to get some advice on how to do this without having to spend a night in the Breckland Woods.

"I'll tell you a secret, little brother," Fergus managed to say in between sword thrusts and parries. "the flower grows in the Clearing. I wondered why Father didn't tell you but maybe he has his reasons. Maybe he doesn't want you eating all the food again at supper time."

There was a sound of a metal clashing with another metal and it came from a sword colliding with a shield. Hadrian pushed the sword out of the way with his small Veridium shield and stepped forward to lunge at his brother with his wooden sword.

"The Clearing? I thought we weren't supposed to go there, on pain of death I hear," Hadrian panted and he had to quickly block another strike from his brother.

"Only the direct descendants of the Couslands can go there and even for us, only at certain times of our lives. Like the Rite of Passage. Nice parry,"

"Well, it's almost dusk and I better get some sleep in before tomorrow morning."

Fergus agreed and both brothers saluted to each other as an indication of the match's end. They went up to their rooms and upon entering his, Hadrian discovered a note lying on his bed. It was in cursive writing and quite elegant too. He picked it up and his eyes perused the message, which read as the following:

_Dear Hadrian,_

_I am to understand that you will be leaving the Castle very early on the morne. _

_Your parents have told me of your quest and I wish you good luck in your endeavors. _

_I know mine was quite hard to finish but the effort was worth the attentions._

_My Father and the rest of us are coming down to visit you tomorrow; your mother _

_wanted to throw a surprise party when you come back from the Woods but I guess you know now._

_Don't get lost on the way,_

_Kind regards,_

Nate Howe

So the Howes will be coming in after he's done? It would be good to see the other boys again and Delilah too. For some odd reasons, his mother was sorely attempting to arrange events solely around them and he didn't know what to make of that. It's not like he didn't like the girls but they always made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Their stares, the annoying chatter and gossip would irritate him to no end. Plus, there would be that awful smell clinging to them. Sometimes the urge to throw up would well up in his stomach and he would have to politely excuse himself from the company.

Delilah was an exception to most noblewomen; she was quiet and demure, despite having two older brothers. Then again, it wouldn't do to have three boisterous children, especially if one was a girl. However, she too smelled _off_ to him but he never told her that, out of fear of hurting the girl's feelings. If his own brother was fiercely overprotective of him, he can't imagine facing the wrath of two overprotective brothers. Thomas Howe was not known for his mercies. Nate Howe, though placed at the opposite end of the spectrum of his brother's, was equally overprotective of his sister and there were tales of nobles having sticky, non-violent ends. He does roughhouse with his friends but his eyes had that understanding too. He had good ears and paid close attention to whoever was venting their problems to him. Most guys Hadrian knew would just have that glazed expression and then ask a stupid question after the conversation, one to where if the speaker could repeat himself or herself in most cases.

He had always liked the youngest Howe, who was only two years older than him, and he had a nice smell associated with him, a smell of fresh leather and soap. _Wait, why am I thinking of him that way?_ Hadrian did not like where his thoughts were going and brushed it off as results of exhaustion and stress of the day. Yes, he will try to spend some time with Delilah, as awful as that may be. With that thought in mind, he clambered into his small but cozy bed and his eyes shut, the last image being of Nate Howe with that trademark smirk on his face.

**Preview of Chapter 4: **Hadrian sets out for the Breckland Woods to find the flower and encounters a strange animal.


	4. Chapter 4

Legend:

Thought

_ -o0o- _Page break, obviously enough.

Warning(s): Some violence and cursing.

Thanks to Aki For reviewing. I hope others join u!

Chapter 4: That's Not A Wolf!

-o0o-

"Maker's breath, father could have told me where this Clearing is!"

The Cousland muttered underneath his breath, trying to walk through the woods without disturbing its denizens. He had woken up an hour before dawn and had found that everything was packed for him the night before. His horse was nickering at him when he arrived at the stables and small saddlebags tucked neatly in the saddles. With his parents and sibling seeing him off, he had hoped to do this quickly and get it over with. However, the Maker had other plans for him and one of them was to make it very challenging for him to even get to the Clearing. The first couple of hours passed uneventfully and Hadrian started to think that maybe someone had told the animals ahead of time of his coming.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he almost missed out on hearing a low snarl ahead. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and stooped even lower in the grass. He brought out the dagger his father gave him for his last year's birthday and realized that maybe he should have brought that sword with him instead of the 9-in blade. Up ahead was a large black bear and it appeared to be fighting with another creature, a smaller one. He crawled closer, as quietly as he could, and discovered that the creature fighting the bear was a wolf. But this wolf looked quite odd. It had a coat of shorthair instead of the usually longhaired mane that wolves had around this area. The body was too bulky, to big for it to be a wolf, even for a large one that he would occasionally see on hunting trips. On closer inspection, Hadrian found the coat to be matted in blood and severe claw marks dotted the animal's skin. The bear, to his discovery, was even worse off, bearing a deep gash in its side and it seemed to have a limp as it stumbled awkwardly to the side to dodge a lunge from its opponent. Normally, he would have tried to avoid the situation, but a voice inside him urged him on. _The smaller creature looked like it needed help…Bears are a nuisance in this area and are too many…_

The black bear let out a loud bellow and Hadrian saw one of the creature's legs fall into a deep pothole, thus trapping him in place and being in the way of the bear's charge. Quickly, he made up his mind and intervened by charging in there and piercing the bear's back from behind. The large creature roared in pain and it back kicked the sudden stranger. Hadrian deftly dodged the foot and used the momentum to slash the bear on the side, blood pooling out of the wound and bone shone through it. He almost felt sorry for the bear and he truly didn't want to kill it. Apparently, the bear disagreed and it shoved the third-party fighter to the side, its force pushing Hadrian into a thick trunk. Stars glimmered in front of him and he just barely had time to bring up dagger, the business end sticking towards the bear that lumbered towards him, its intent to kill him clear in its black eyes. Shards of agony lanced his torso and his eyes scrunched closed, knowing that his intervention in this stupid fight just cost his life.

When the final blow didn't come and with a heavy weight collapsing on him, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and saw that the bear landed on him, at least its head did. His torso was bloody and it decorated the dead animal's muzzle. _Am I dead? Maybe the bear started eating me and I'm just having an outer-body experience…_

After a few moments of silence, the black bear didn't budge and he attempted to move it, only to collapse back into the trunk with a low moan. The animal was too heavy and it was lying right on top of his bloody torso. The young man struggled to move again but found his arms too numb, too heavy to lift. _Maker curse me…first thing I do is get myself injured in this rite…I wonder…if Fergus had a hard time like me…_ That was Hadrian's last thought before blackness swallowed him whole.

-o0o-

Movement nearby was what finally woke Hadrian from his dreamless stupor and his eyes blearily cracked opened. Standing over him was that creature again, the one that was fighting the bear. It whined at him, pawing gently at his leg.

"I…I'm…trying to move…" Hadrian muttered, groaning as even talking hurt him. He clutched at the source of pain and found that the bear no long laid on top of him. Instead, its dead body was set to the side of him and part of its body was torn open, its organs glistening in the sunlight or at least, what's left of them. Like the bear, the creature's snout was also covered in blood and bits of flesh hung off the sharp teeth. _This one must have been very hungry…hope it doesn't eat me…_

The creature pawed at him again and then started to pace to and fro in front of him, its head constantly reaching up, sniffing the air for other predators that could be looming in the vicinity. From what Hadrian could observe and then remember with his fuzzy mind, he recalled that this creature was not a wolf or a dog. The coat was too coarse and its body seemed much too large to hold such a small head. Also, it was twice as big as a normal dog and the legs held more muscle than even a dog at its best peak would have. What was the name? He read it in a book somewhere. Yes, a Mabari.But what was a Mabari doing out in the woods? Where was its Master?

The Mabari's head turned to him but kept pacing, whining softly. Hadrian noticed that the sun had shifted to a low point in the sky, indicating that it was very late in the afternoon, almost reaching the evening hours. _Curse it; I'm going to miss dinner!_ He slowly took a deep breath, not wanting to overdo his body and feel the pain. When the agony hadn't hit him yet, he attempted to rise up and stood shakily, his arm resting against the tree for support. The Mabari and the bear wavered, as did the trees that surrounded him. He shut his eyes to ward off the dizzy sensation. The forest stopped moving around him and his eyes peered open. The Mabari, this time, stood closer to him, its face nuzzling his leg. He hadn't realized how large the animal was until his hand brushed against the coat, its back and shoulders placed near mid-thigh.

"…yes…what do you want mutt?" Hadrian still had a quest to do and he was running out of time to do it.

How much time had he lost? Five hours? Six? When he entered the forests, the sun had barely peeked out of the horizon. Now, it was edging closer and closer to that same horizon it had left nine hours before. His family would be gathering around the fireplace now, waiting on a meal cooked by elven servants. His father would be sitting in his wooden chair, hand-made by one of the elves while his mother would sit in hers, knitting a piece of clothing in a leisurely manner. His brother, Fergus, would have probably just finished his training sessions with the Quartermaster, Stefanus and he may have showered (or not) before meeting up with the parents. Would they worry about him? His father mentioned that if he didn't come back in time, he would send out a search party. He really needed to get a move on.

He waited for the forest to come to a standstill before slowly stumbling through the aperture that he had stumbled upon before. His hand still clutched at his torso. The scratch marks weren't terribly deep, from what he could see. They stung fiercely though and it hurt worse than the ache in his ribs. The last time he felt this way was when Fergus was a little too rough in one of their sparring session and had unintentionally shoved his shield too hard into his chest. The result of that session was a set of cracked ribs, which had to be reset and then healed over the next few weeks. It was unfortunate that a mage was unavailable at that time and Hadrian at that time sorely wished that he himself were a mage so he could heal himself.

The Mabari followed closely beside him, still making those annoying whiney noises. However, the Cousland was intrinsically grateful that he wasn't alone in this forest, which seemed to get darker and darker as he progressed to his destination. Between bouts of delirium, he saw that the Mabari would sometimes leave him for a few minutes and then return, carrying some fresh kill in its huge mouth. Hadrian refused the 'gifts' from his new companion. The sun had drifted inexorably down and the whole forest, once blooming in sunshine, truly darkened as night beckoned. The animals themselves seemed to have quieted as they all settled for the night, at least the diurnal types. It was fortunate for the pair to not have any run-ins with other predators that prowled the woods, predators like the bear they had just fought and giant cats such as Polaes, the feline cousins to wolves.

Hadrian's legs started to feel like jelly and he stumbled a couple of times. The Mabari often caught him at times like this and he was now extremely grateful that he had such a companion. Hadrian finally saw something ahead, the moonlight now reflecting off of it. He and the Mabari walked closer to it and there was a relieved sigh coming from the Cousland. _Finally…_

He somehow managed to get to the body of water without falling fall flat on his face out of sheer exhaustion and pain. His hands scooped some water out of the pond and he hastily drank it, like a starving man. His Mabari friend, oddly enough, did not join him. It stared at him and then at something else, to his left. He very slowly turned, knowing that any sudden movements on his part would send jolts of pain through his body. There, sitting across from them, was another animal that Hadrian did not wish to see. He had enough of fighting off carnivores for today and he still had yet to find that flower, the sole purpose of this whole journey.

A feeling of lethargy struck him and he sat back down. His dagger was already brought out, although Hadrian didn't know how. His body was acting out of instinct it seems. The creature stood on its haunches and it started to walk towards him. It got closer and hazier as well, Hadrian observed tiredly. Then, its pace changed from that of a timely one to a sudden rush that had him panicking. He tried to run away but his body was too numb, too stubborn to move. _Maker curse it, I'm really going to do die this time! _His last thought before being overwhelmed by the abyss that had hovered on the edges of his consciousness was that this was a wolf and he could see through it. _Am I seeing things?…_

-o0o-

Hadrian startled awake, only to find himself lying in a familiar bed. He took in the white stones with dazed confusion and there was a sense of heaviness on his arm. His eyes strayed towards the source of that heaviness and the Cousland youngster was very shocked to see a large head lying across his forearm. If he weren't so exhausted and groggy, the Cousland would have yanked his arm out of shock.

"Hey, you're awake!"

A familiar voice called out to him as if from a distance and he attempted to turn his head. It wasn't the person he was expecting to see.

"Nate? What? What are you doing here?" His voice sounded scratchy and hoarse; the named visitor brought up a cup of water to him and he slowly drank it, savoring the coolness and sweetness of the liquid.

"You don't remember?"

Hadrian's thoughts were jumbled together, too mixed in for him to recall what happened. The last thing he could remember was seeing that huge wolf rushing towards him.

"You collapsed outside the gates. The guards your father posted called for help and brought you in, along with this…"

Nate paused to look at the Mabari with wary eyes. Mabaris were well known for _not_ making good pets. In fact, they make atrocious pets for they had a bad habit in destroying everything in sight, including expensive clothes and eating all the food that was not closely guarded. Additionally, unless the person was its direct master, the Mabaris take orders from no one, thus, making it hard to be disciplined. As if the Mabari knew it was being inspected, it opened its eyes and growled softly at the Howe, who shifted more to the left, away from the hound. If Hadrian wasn't so tired, he would have laughed at the infamous stoic Howe shying away from an animal. The Mabari and the Howe stared at each other until the Hound seemingly gave up, laying its head on the forearm again.

Howe, satisfied that the Mabari wouldn't make a move on him, cautiously turned to the convalescing Cousland. Nate had always liked the youngest Cousland and when he first arrived with his family to see the birthday boy, he was terribly dismayed to find a patient in bed, rather than a smiling Cousland. On the way to the Cousland Castle, he experienced a horrible sensation, as if someone had gutted him and then left him to die with his entrails hanging out. Apparently, that was happened to the other teenager. He didn't know the exact details, but from what he gathered from the Cousland Head, Bryce, he knew two things: that Hadrian had indeed found the rare flower, and he somehow stumbled upon a Mabari along the way. Bryce didn't exactly go into details on how Hadrian managed to get home, wounded as he was, and there was no clear explanation on how the even most severe wounds were healed. Perhaps he could ask Hadrian himself.

He was about to ask the young Cousland, but Hadrian's eyes were closed and the Howe decided that he could ask that question later. He brought up the blankets to the boy's chin and, ignoring another set of growls from the Mabari, left Hadrian to rest.

A/N: Don't be shy now! Please review! In fact, there's a vote going on. Since we all know that Fergus loses his family in that horrible night, who would be the perfect person paired with him? Leliana? Zevran? Maybe Riordan? He will make an earlier appearance in this story than in the actual game, maybe in Redcliffe, which will change things for our lovely Grey Wardens and their companions.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Conversation Between A Howe and A Cousland

Soft voices echoed in the background, bringing Hadrian to consciousness for what he counted as the fifth time.

He was tired of all this sleeping and waking bouts; this time, he hoped, he would be able to stay awake for a whole conversation instead of falling asleep in the middle of it.

Nate was with him again and so was his sister, the pale and willowy Delilah, who sat close to him, along with his mother as well. Eleanor was wiping her son's forehead with a dampened cloth, concern in her eyes.

"Hadrian? Pup?"

Even his own mother would call him pup in front of other people.

It was bad enough for his father to have started it! Whatever protests he had died in a groan when he tried getting up and his mother's hands pushed him back down gently, but firmly.

"He does look better than before. Thank the Maker Ariala was still here," his mother said, placing the cloth next to a small bowl of water on the tableside.

She looked haggard, as did Nate and Fergus, although he had no idea why Nate would have stayed with him.

However, she bore her vigilance none too well, unlike the two youthful boys. Her eyes had dark circles around them and her face was unusually pale, even for her. The hair hung over her shoulders in ragged strands, no longer fitted in tight buns. There were even more grey hairs present among her dark brown strands but Hadrian did not want to point _that_ out. It was bad enough to be called pup by his mother in front of everyone, especially the two Howes. He certainly did not want to be smacked across the head for his comment on her appearances.

"Ariala?…" his voice was a little bit scratchy but not as hoarse as it had been several days before. His mother offered him another cup of water and Hadrian realized too late that it wasn't water he was drinking but the awful health poultice. _Yes, Ariala certainly has been here. No one else can give that stuff around without getting hurt_. The bitterness cut through his daze and he heard a cheeky comment on how ugly his face gets when consuming that liquid. The bitter sensation was gradually replaced by a dull ache and the pain was kept at a distance.

"See, that stuff is just horrid to take in," Fergus quipped and he received a disapproving scowl for it from his mother. She leaned forward to Hadrian and felt his temperature with the back of her hand. A tongue clucked and she pulled the blankets up; they had previously fallen around his torso in his bouts of delirium and fever earlier in the night although Hadrian didn't' remember.

"Your father will be coming in shortly. He had to break up a confrontation between guards this morning. One of them received a black eye for his troubles."

Just as she finished speaking, though, the sound of a door was heard in other wing of the spacious room of the Infirmairy and Fergus' eyes brightened at the sight of his father approaching them in quiet footsteps, so as not to disturb Hadrian. His efforts, unwarranted as they were, were gratefully received by other patients in the wing. He pushed open a door that led to a private room in which Hadrian had been occupying for the past week since his untimely arrival.

"It's alright, sweetheart, he's already awake," Eleanor said in a hushed tone.

Bryce stopped by his injured son's bed and he knelt on one knee. He gave Hadrian a very odd expression; the youth had a feeling that he and his father were going to have a private discussion soon. True to his words, his father turned to the others, saying, "I need a moment with him, please."

He gave no reason why; he didn't have to since he was head of the Castle. So it wasn't surprising that the two Howes left without question, followed by Fergus and his mother. His mother regarded him coolly but she left without saying a word, leaving a son and a father alone.

"Father, why did you send everybody away? I'm awake this time," Hadrian pointed out in a respectful tone.

"Son, I need to tell you something, something I should have told you _before_ the Initiation Ceremony."

Hadrian waited, his hands fidgeting with the woolen blanket that covered his body. The elder Cousland took a deep breath and the younger Cousland noticed the weariness on his father's face, the slumped shoulders, and the grey features previously absent. What could it be that had his father so distraught in telling him?

"I told Fergus this but it wasn't until several months after you were born. Do you remember the story of Edourd Elmric, our great ancestor? Your mother used to read it to you when you were a young boy."

There was a nod and Bryce took the seat his mother had previously occupied. Settling himself comfortably, he took Hadrian's hands in his and proceeded:

"In your fits, you mentioned a name, do you remember?"

Bryce received a negative affirmation.

"It was Zarieth. You called his name out several times while you had fever in the nights. He must have seen you at the Clearing. Tell me, son, did you drink the water? It's important that you tell me."

"Yes, father. I thought it-"

"it was just a normal pond, correct?" His father interrupted him. "It's not. That pond…it's not tainted in the sense of the darkspawn taint. But it's different."

"Darkspawn taint? You mean those!"

Hadrian started to panic. He didn't heed his father's last words for all he could think of was that word. _Darkspawn. Curse of the Maker who wanted to punish the arrogant mages that invaded his seat of Heaven_. Was he going to die? Or worse, would he become like them? His body trembled at the thought but a hand took his chin in a firm grasp and he was forced to look at a weathered face, full of lines and worry colouring his eyes.

"This is why I placed a sentence of death on whoever goes near the Clearing. There have been reports of missing persons in the past 30 years. Luckily, with that warning I put out, there's been no missing persons so far. You remember the story of the Clearing, where Edourd saved the Blue Wolf and was given a boon in return. Well, that boon is only given to the eldest of our family. In Fergus' case, Zarieth did not accept him but he accepted you. I still don't understand why but I'm sure the Maker has a reason for this. In any case, according to legend, Edourd was slain in that very spot where he saved the Blue Wolf and from his blood, the pond came into existence.

Zarieth warned me that whoever comes near the Clearing ultimately loses his life for it is sacred territory. If someone manages to survive entering that, however, the water is poisonous to any man, even for us. Only Edourd's direct line can pass into the Clearing but they are still forbidden to drink the waters."

"So am I going to die, pappa?"

Bryce noticed that Hadrian used his younger and more affectionate term instead of the formal 'father.' His son used it when he was littler. As he grew older though, propriety took a strong hold of the boy and Eleanor probably schooled him in the ways of the court afterwards. The last thing we need, she had once said to him, is for him to be taken advantage due to his height and age.

"Ariala hasn't said anything to me except the usual instructions of an injury such as yours: plenty of rest and fluids. However, I am uncertain in how this will affect you. None of our family has _ever_ drunk the waters. Don't worry though. I am told that if anyone took that precious liquid into their bodies, they would pass on into the Fade immediately."

"So what can I do, pappa?"

"Just live like you've been doing, pup."

A hand petted his head and his father rose up from his seat. Again, there was that odd, preoccupied look on his father's face. The hand that ran through his hair traveled to his shoulder and gave him a firm squeeze.

"Just get some rest, son."

Hadrian watched his father stride out of his private room and he stayed up for a long time, thinking over what his father had told him. Sleep was going to be long in coming and when it sneaked up on him, he dreamed of wolves and the Darkspawn hounding him at every turn.

-o0o-

It wasn't until later the next day that he was finally released from the white prison of his convalescence. Ariala gave him some restrictions and the major but most debilitating one was that he couldn't train for at least a month. _It's to allow your ribs to heal properly. Magic is all well and good but your body still needs time to rest and recover. If you overdo it, then not even healing magic can help you. _That's what she told him and as much as he hated her advice, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore it. Mages, feared and respected throughout Thedas, were well educated in all manner of subjects, healing most especially.

"I see that Ariala finally let you out," a voice rumbled softly, a tone of amusement colouring the statement. Hadrian was a very good boy but he made a horrible patient. He loathed taking health poultices and would deliberately spit them out when nobody was looking. The person talking to him lounged against his bedroom door and there was that trademark smirk again.

"Nate," Hadrian replied, his eyebrows quirking at the presence of the Howe.

Nate pushed off the wall he was leaning against, his leather armour creaking at the movements. A bow was slung across his shoulders, with a quiver of arrows hanging off the broad shoulders of the boy, no, young man, Hadrian corrected himself. Seeing that Hadrian was 15 years old, that would make Nate 17.

"Did you come back from a hunt?" Hadrian asked of the Howe, absently opening his door to his bedroom and letting the Howe in. He was sorely tempted to jump unto his bed of satin silks and downy covers and pillows. The ribs though wouldn't like that and so he pushed it off to another time. Instead, he gingerly walked towards and sat on it, still reveling in the feel of the smooth blankets pressing against his hands. _That feels so good, better than those hospital sheets…_

Nate took it upon himself to take off his weapons and place them at the door. There was an unspoken rule throughout the nobles' houses that any visitor in a private bedroom was required to leave weapons at the door. Of course, not everyone obeys the rules and assassinations came about in the subtlest ways. He took a chair that was in juxtaposition to the Cousland's queen-sized bed and laid back, his arms behind his head.

"Yes, both of our fathers took me and Fergus hunting. They said we have to keep our hunting skills sharp in case there's a war or whatever."

"War? What's going on?" Hadrian hadn't heard any mentions of a war. There were local disputes happening nationwide, but not an open civil war.

"Nothing's going on," Nate replied, still reclining in his chair, his eyes closed. "Just that father's acting in his usual way, being paranoid and all."

"sometimes your father acts too paranoid," Hadrian spoke honestly.

He wasn't afraid of Rendon Howe and he certainly wasn't afraid of his best friend. Honesty was a valued attribute shared between the two friends and it acted as a glue to their friendship. If they couldn't be honest with each other, then really, what was the point of having a friend, a person who could point out your faults and your best asset.

This time, Hadrian may have taken it too far and he forgot that Nate worshipped his dad. Nate's back straightened up and he leaned forward, the chair snapping into position. Nate had never hit him out of anger but the cold glare he was giving to the young Cousland clearly told Hadrian to back off. Hadrian didn't apologize but he didn't continue either. The Howe took his silence as an apology and returned to reclining in the chair again, the legs threatening to buckle underneath his weight.

"Delilah wants to see you," Nate said randomly.

"Oh, umm, that's nice. Why isn't she here then?"

The Howe didn't answer him immediately; he sat forward, causing the chair to snap again into position, albeit with less force than previously. Howe's eyes stared at him and the room seemed to grow hotter with each passing second spent being scrutinized by the Howe.

"You don't like her," Nate told Hadrian in a steadfast manner. There was no malice in the tone, but Hadrian knew he had to tread lightly around the Howe when he was like this, intense, intimidating, and just scary-looking.

However, his body liked the Howe when he got this and he wished that he had his heavy chainmail on, to hide his growing erection. The young boy shifted uncomfortably, hoping that the Howe wouldn't take note of this. Being a rogue, Nathaniel observed everything, coolly and calculating. He certainly didn't miss the tell-tale tent and the Howe gave him that smirk again, the one that said I know everything about you and you can't hide from me type of smirk.

The one smirk he would always gift Hadrian with.

"Just what is it you want?" Hadrian huffed impatiently. He was tired of playing these kinds of games with the Howe. It was bad enough to do it at the King's court, when he and his famly were invited for a special occasion like the Maker's Day and Andraste's Passover, a day that celebrated her death. He hated politics but thanks to his mother's insistent lessons on propriety and insulting someone without resulting in a physical assault made him very aware of games other people play.

"You're grumpy today,"

"Well, I just escaped from that hellish place and here I was hoping for some peace and quiet."

Nate snorted at the last statement. Hadrian definitely was in a bad mood but he figured it was due to the week of being able to do nothing.

"Why don't you like my sister. She's pretty enough. Your mother has desperately been trying to get you and Delilah together."

"She doesn't know..." Hadrian paused. How could he say that he never had an interest in girls, especially to a stoic Howe. Nate was probably straight as an arrow. Very straight.

Nate gave him that intense glare again and the Howe moved a lot closer to him, a lot closer, right into his personal space. Hadrian swallowed a gulp and he fumbled for the words, distracted by brown eyes that focused on him and him only.

"Know what?" A whisper and Hadrian just realized that Nate's face was mere inches away. His pink lips were alluring, their fullness begging to be kissed. Hadrian always known that Nate was handsome and girls swarmed over him constantly, even some of the girls at his home, elven and human. He didn't realize just how handsome he was until he got a full look at him. That nose, so particular of the Howes, the pointy chin and the high cheekbones. They fitted perfectly together on light skin that was paler than his. He could almost see his reflection in the Howe's dark eyes and Hadrian had to swallow another gulp. Unable to keep the stare, he had to look away but Nate didn't let him. He clearly wanted his question answered.

"I...uhh..."

"You can tell your best friend, right? We've known each other since being born, practically speaking."

"Look, just...I...can't..."

"can't what?"

Nate got even impossibly closer and Hadrian could have sworn that if he moved, he would be kissing his friend. _Move! Move and get away! He'll hate you for it._

Further thought abruptly halted when a soft pair of lips pressed again his own and Hadrian stiffened, arms numb at his side. Did he move forward to kiss Nate? Or was it Nate that initiated it? Nate drew back, taking Hadrian's stiffness as an answer to his action. He stood up suddenly, backing the chair into the table.

"I'm sorry. I was mistaken, please forgive me," Nate apologized and, before Hadrian could say anything, made for a hasty exit, the door slamming behind him.

A/N: To be fair to _future_ reviewers, I'm only counting votes on the poll from those who left reviews for the story; this restriction will start today. This shows me that you actually care about how the story is going. Anyhoo, with that said, can you review please? And vote too? _Hint: _the poll is displayed on my profile.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I've finally organized this story and there will be three main arcs: the first ten or twelve chapters will make up the _Wolf's Home Arc_; the next twelve will be _Wolf's Journey_ and the final five will be _Wolf's Rain_.

Warnings: Nate/M!Cousland and some explicit scenes, hence, the reason why it is rated M.

Explanations:

_Andraste's Day _ - Thedas' version of Christmas

_3__rd__ hour to the Moon_ – 9 pm

Chapter 6 Could This Be Something More?

Delilah was busy brushing her hair when there was a knock on her door. Since it was still relatively early in the evening hours, she did not suspect foul play. To be on the safe side though, she took out a slim Orlesian dagger, the one her older brother purchased for Andraste's Day.

"Come in," she shouted, her hand ready to clutch her weapon at a moment's notice. Her caution was not needed when her brother stumbled in, his face unusually confused instead of having that stony appearance. She placed the dagger back into the drawer of the whitewood vanity and Delilah went to her brother, cupping his cheek as she gazed at him in concern.

"What's the matter, Nathan?"

"It's nothing, really,"

"Well, it can't be nothing because you usually spend most of your time hanging out with the men," she replied, trying not to sound exasperated with her brother, who has problems in dealing with his emotions. She hadn't wanted to say _boys_, even though they clearly were. Nathan bestowed a cold glare, one that made her pull back her hand.

"Look, if you don't want to talk about it," she finally said in a coarse way, "then don't bother me!"

She was about to turn away when a hand gently grabbed her elbow, prompting her to turn back. When she did, she discovered that Nathan's eyes were slightly wet with moisture. Was her brother crying?

"Nathan? Tell me, what's wrong."

Her brother inhaled deeply and he then explained to her what had happened between him and Hadrian. She held her questions until her brother's tale finished. Nathan talked about how he and Hadrian were very good friends and that he screwed it up by that little kiss.

"I could have sworn to the Maker," he said, sitting at the edge of her bed, "that he was fey." He sat back even further on her bed, messing up her carefully placed duvet cover. She didn't mind, so long as her brother kept telling her about this. It wasn't good to keep things bottled and if there were secrets to be had, they usually lead to dire consequences, much like her grandfather. Nathan sighed and he rubbed the sides of his temple with his hands, broad and calloused from the archery sessions he had taken for the past five years.

His wretched posture elicited a feeling of pity in Delilah and she joined him on her bed, taking her hands in his. Her evening skirt would be sort of wrinkled before suppertime. She'll just change into another one. Eleanor's old clothes fit her marvelously and there were plenty of her clothes to be had in Delilah's room.

"Nathan," she started, "I'm sure that Hadrian was just, well, surprised by your action."

There was a snort but he didn't contradict her.

"Look, just talk to him," she continued and her small hands squeezed her brother's gently. "If he really is that way, then he'll come around. Whatever you do though, don't avoid him. That'll just make things awkward between you,"

"It's already that way," he said.

"Ok, now you're just being you, just like father. He's always _assuming_ things, making conclusions on something when there's not enough evidence to warrant his judgement. Stop that! It's going to get you killed."

Her admonishment shocked Nathan. She certainly was not like her mother, who would usually try to comfort him in that nasal, annoying, motherly way. Delilah was a strong woman but she balanced her independence with a warm heart that won over a plentiful amount of boys her way, boys that respected her for what she is. _Delilah is right. I…I have to right this…_

"Thank you, sister," his voice sounded stronger and when he stood up, she noticed that his back was more erect than it was when he first came in. "I think I have a meeting with a certain person; see you later."

"Bye, brother," she kissed him on the cheek and then, after watching him leave her room, regarded the bed with some distaste before tidying it back into its original place.

-o0o-

Unfortunately for Nathaniel Howe, Hadrian was nowhere to be found before suppertime. It was as if the younger Cousland was avoiding him. How ironic that his sister advised him on not avoiding Hadrian, when clearly it was now the other way around. He asked enough guards that could fill an entire room of his whereabouts but none could give him a satisfied answer. He had contemplated in asking Fergus, but when he heard noises in Fergus' room, some that sounded much like his sister's laughter, he decided against it. Night was fast approaching and he was getting desperate in finding Cousland. He had never liked leaving things unanswered but what could he do when the person he wanted to talk to has virtually disappeared from the castle.

He was on his way back to his room when he bumped into someone, the other person clearly not watching where he was going. The person stumbled backwards, his balance failing him as he began to fall and Nathan caught at his forearm, saving him from a nasty backfall on stony grounds. It was an elf, Nathan saw, disheveled and looked to be in a hurry. The elf looked back at him fearfully, afraid that the noble he bumped into would strike him down, just like any other noble would do.

Nathan didn't dislike elves but he didn't like them either. The way they moved, how they cowered when in the presence of their supposed betters grated on his nerves. However, that didn't mean he mistreated them. A happy slave is one that's treated well by its master and it was too true at the Howe's own estate in Amaranthine. His father's elves were silent, with the more insolent ones missing tongues as punishment for speaking out against their master. Some female elves were used as 'toys' by his father's guards and no matter how hard Nathan tried to halt that particular habit, it still continued. He could still hear the high-pitched screams from one of the guard rooms and from that point on, he had never wanted to take a lover forcefully. _Just like you never wanted to do that to him forcefully._ A voice spoke out inside his head.

"I'm s-s-sorry, ser, so sorry, ser," the elf stammered, bowing profusely and so low that Nathan was afraid of the elf breaking his face.

"It's ok," Nathan said in a neutral tone, "just mind your step."

"Yes, yes, ser!"

He watched the elf scurry off into the distance and the Howe wondered what could have caused the elf to run into him like that. An answer was given to him when he heard a muffled moan nearby, followed by some shuffling. His senses alert, his mood shifted into the manner of an assassin. His steps were much lighter now and barely audible over the ambient sounds of his environment. As he edged closer to the sound, he observed that it originated from a closed room and he inwardly cursed at himself for not bringing a dagger with him. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the wooden door and with no one nearby, the Howe picked the lock easily. Apparently, the soft click of the broken lock didn't alert the source for it still continued, even after Howe opened the door and closed it behind him. The room, he found, was rather spacious, too spacious for it to be a closet. It was also too decorative as well. There were little knickknacks on wooden shelves and a couple of portraits hanging on the wall. Also, this room was oddly familiar to him, really familiar especially when he laid eyes on a portrait of the entire Cousland family. _Maker's balls, am I in Fergus room or Hadrian's?_

With that thought, the Howe was sorely tempted in turning back, but he wanted to know why either Fergus or Hadrian was making that sound. _They could be injured and none of the guards are here to report it. Maybe that elf saw something and he was going to report._ The elf made no mention of this, however, and Howe became a little bit curious as to why. He had no idea why he was still being stealthy; it felt wrong for him to be sneaking around a good friend's private room or whatever this was. Despite this, he proceeded in his investigation and the Maker Himself seemed to reward him for his efforts as Howe was bestowed with such a view of the person he was looking for.

There, lying on the bed, was Hadrian, naked and seemingly wet. It appeared that the boy had taken a shower prior to this and forgot to dry off too. A towel lay forgotten over a chair, the same one Nathan had sat in earlier that morning. However, Nathan's eyes were riveted on his best friend's hand that stroked his erection. He had seen Hadrian naked plenty of times before but somehow, he never paid any attention to it. Now though, when he expressed his desire to Hadrian, he noticed how muscular the thighs were becoming, the developing chest muscles, and he let out a soft groan when Hadrian's back arched, showing off his taught abs, tight from the routine crunches the boy would do every morning, and the impressive hard-on he was sporting. His movements became more frantic and the name that left Hadrian's lips caused such a jolt of arousal in Nathan that he barely stifled a moan. He quickly covered his mouth, fearful that Hadrian had heard him. When the boy made no move from his position, the Howe relaxed and the Maker had answered his question for him. Hadrian _did_ like him that way. He wasn't mistaken at all.

A bell echoed in the distance, signaling the hour of supper. There was a rude curse emitting from the bed and Nathan decided that he best take his leave, before Hadrian discovers him. If he did, then he would lose all chances of possibly being together with his handsome friend.

-o0o-

Hadrian could have sworn he heard some noise but figured it was the guards walking outside, heading to the Dining Hall. It was suppertime and he needed to get ready. He looked down at his body and noticed that he needed to clean up first. Grabbing the towel that hung off the chair, he wiped the evidence of his session off and then sprayed some cologne, to cover its pungent smell. His dog would pick up the scent and try to hump him at the table. That's _not_ what he wanted to deal with while he is eating and another thing he did not want to deal with is Fergus' cheeky remarks accompanied by his mother's disapproving stares. Speaking of his dog, he would probably have to find the mutt again. He kicked the dog out before his shower as he felt oddly uncomfortable masturbating in front of his canine friend.

Looking into the vanity mirror, he checked to make sure his clothes were tidy and proper for supper. A stubborn patch of hair at the back still stood up and he searched for that oil made especially for stubborn hair like his. He found the container of the oil, a small amber bottle, and dabbed two fingers in it. The oil was spread on the annoying patch and Hadrian smiled as he flattened it. Ready to go and meet with the Howes and his family, he noticed that something was out of place. A book was knocked forward in one of the bookshelves by the door and Hadrian was fairly certain that the book was not like that when he first entered the room. Someone was in his room, but when and why? He quickly turned around, his senses on high alert. He checked out all the opened spaces, but had found no one staking out in his room. Apparently, whoever it was had left the room without him knowing about it. _Maybe it was Fergus?_

He was still thinking about the possible culprit as he walked into the corridor, even into the main dining table, with the family table located at the front of the room. He finally looked up at someone's voice, which called out to him. There were the Howes, sitting along side with his family. Bryce sat the head of the table, with Eleanor sitting to the left side and Fergus on the right side. There was an empty seat beside Fergus and Hadrian assumed that it was for him. However, sitting opposite of that seat was that one person he did not want to see.

He took his seat, trying to ignore the eyes of its owner.

"It's good to see you," Nathan greeted him in a courteous manner.

"Where were you, Hadrian?" Fergus asked with a mouthful of chicken and it came out as a "fphere fere vyhu ahrhien"

"Fergus! What have I told you about not speaking with food in your mouth! It's unbecoming!" Eleanor rebuked him, frowning at her eldest son's poor manners. Bryce shook his head and chuckled, enjoying the sight of his son and wife glaring at each other. He would never get tired of this and he hoped that it would continue until the day he passes into the Fade. Arl Howe, on the other hand, looked rather undisturbed at seeing the poor manners of the Cousland's eldest.

"Ah cheer up, Rendon," Bryce smiled at his friend, raising a goblet to his lips. "Kids are kids, until they kill their first man,"

It was true for both boys. Neither had killed men, although they had hunted animals plenty of times. Hadrian developed an extreme distaste for it but necessity pushed his dislikes aside. Survival came first. Survival always comes first.

When he started eating, he felt something rub against his foot and he looked up to tell the person to stop doing that. However, whatever he was going to say never left his mouth when a pair of dark eyes gazed at him heatedly. He swallowed and then choked on a piece of venison, the one with the bone in it. He coughed, trying to dislodge it from his throat but to no avail. A pair of hands pounded his back and he grabbed a piece of napkin, in which the meat was spat back into.

"Thanks," Hadrian managed to say between coughs. A glass of water was placed in front of him and he gladly drank it, relishing in the sweetness of it that washed away the burning sensation of having a bone stuck in a throat.

"No problem" came the husky reply and Hadrian was indeed thankful that he had already swallowed whatever was in his mouth.

"Are you ok, Hadrian?" His father asked him, watching him carefully. In fact, everyone was staring at him, even the elven servants. _Damn it! Why did it have to be him?_

"Yeah," he replied in a neutral tone, not wanting to give any sign that the person who saved him was causing a reaction within him. He was suddenly glad for thick tunics in the cold seasons.

The answer seemed satisfactory enough for those sitting at the table and they continued eating, conversing with the next partner in low tones. Only Delilah was still watching him, a curious expression on her face. Then her lips turned at the corners and Hadrian knew that she was up to something. The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully and Hadrian was grateful that Nathan hadn't touched him or even tried talking to him. He couldn't bear the thought of passing out from choking on dinner in front of everyone. That would just be too embarrassing.

It was getting late in the evening when the dinner finally finished, followed by a long period of conversation between the Howes and the Couslands. Wine was served to all of them, even to the youngest child. Hadrian often found his attentions wandering, his mind still trying to figure out who was in the room with him. The Guards were clearly forbidden from entering the rooms of the Couslands and as far as he knew, no guard dared to intrude into their privacies. The conversation of his parents was a soft murmur in the background and Delilah's talk with Fergus bored him. He wished that Fergus would not dance around the girl and just ask the girl out. The way she leaned into him as he discussed his duties and daily routines was a clear sign that she felt something for him. Now, Nathan, that man was an enigma. Always a stoic child, Hadrian was thoroughly surprised by his advances and then his flustered state and hasty escape. Suddenly, thoughts jumbled in his mind and it grew into a bad headache. Maybe he should just go back to his room and rest.

He was just about to leave the room when a hand stopped him, prompting him to look back, only to see Nathan's face staring at him with those knowing eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my room. It's getting late," Hadrian snarled, pulling his arm out of Nathan's grasp. "And I have a headache."

"Let me accompany you,"

Hadrian was in no mood to play games with the Howe and Nathan was the type who wouldn't take a 'no' for an answer. The youngest Cousland sighed in defeat.

"If you insist," Nathan smiled at Hadrian's reply, despite it being said in a gruff tone.

He bowed a farewell to his father and the rest of the nobles in the room before turning on his feet to follow the vanishing figure of Hadrian Cousland.

As soon as they entered the younger Cousland's room, Hadrian found himself bodily pinned against the wooden door, his lips taken up by another pair in a passionate kiss. Eyes flew open in shock and Hadrian's hands came up, to push Nathan away. However, it was unnecessary as Nathan drew back, his heated gaze causing his loins to dampen.

"I know you've been thinking about me," Nathan whispered heatedly in his ear, causing shivers to run down his spine as a gentle hand groped him _down_ there, where not so long ago he was playing with. Hadrian accidentally let out a squeak, to which Nathan found very endearing.

"Nathan! I-"

"Hadrian, before you say anything, I want you to know that," Nathan paused, suddenly unsure whether he should continue this or not. However, whatever this _thing_ he started, he was determined to see it to the end. "It's just...I'm very comfortable with you."

Nathan's words were running into another. He cursed his clumsy tongue and wished he had his sister's silvery tongue instead of his brother's strength. He drew back but found a pair of arms embracing him tightly to a warm body. He startled at the gesture and when he looked into the eyes of his best friend, he expected to see mockery or rejection. Instead, there was genuine understanding in those startling blue eyes and Hadrian nuzzled his face with his own.

"I think I know what you mean," Hadrian said, so softly that the Howe barely heard it over the ambient noise of the Castle. Hadrian knew that Nathan was never good with expressing himself, using his strength or skill with the bow to convey his meanings to other people. His hand trailed from Nathan's silky upper cloth and cupped a cheek in his palm. Nathan leaned into the caress and pressed a light kiss into the hand. He continued to kiss the hand, continuing along the sensitive forearm and then finally landing on Hadrian's full lips.

As Nathan kissed him again, slowly and passionately, Hadrian felt something burst in his heart. _Is this love? The one mother mentioned when she told me stories of how she met my father? _His heart was fluttering and there were butterflies in his stomach, butterflies that were traveling further south. His friend drew back, saliva still linking the two together until it broke. A hand caressed his face and he turned into it, liking how it moved against his smooth cheek and then down his throat.

"You are still too young for me to take you, but I can show you other things that we can do," Nathan said as he kissed Hadrian again, distracting him enough to guide him to the bed that was awaiting them, and then his mouth moved to nibble on his ears, sending a shiver down the boy's frame. With that said, he gave a gentle push and with Hadrian still dazed from his attentions, he blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. However, all Hadrian cared about was Nathan and his hands.

-0O0-

Nathan was having the most wonderful dream when a knock rudely interrupted his steamy session with Hadrian. A door burst open and then a shocked gasp. The Howe's eyes flew open and he instinctively reached out for his short sword placed by his pillow, fearing an enemy.

"Oh by the Maker!" Someone had shouted and whoever it was had run off before he could take a good look at him or her. The Howe cursed and he stumbled out of bed, hastily putting on his smallclothes as well as a loose t-shirt. His rapid movements caused his lover to stir in the bed beside him. A head peeked out of the covers and eyes blinked slowly at him.

"Nate? Wuzz da matta?" The Howe had to smile at the slurred statement. He had never known that the young Cousland could sound and look so cute first thing in the morning. However, he had to know who it was that opened his bedroom and without warrant. It could have been someone close, like Fergus or even Hadrian's mother. The voice did sound strangely feminine but when he looked down the corridor, all he saw were questioning looks from guards that were patrolling the area. Once they got over the shock of seeing a Howe in their midst, whose room was on the other side of the castle, one of the guards approached him, intent on questioning him.

"Milord? Are you lost? Your room is on the east side of the castle."

Nathan coolly glared at the Knight, slightly offended that the Knight would dare question his motive. However, he thought of two things: one, he wasn't equipped in his usual light armor that he wears around the castle and two, if he opened the door any further, the guard would have seen a very naked Cousland. Sometimes being straightforward with a guard was the best approach. He relaxed his stance, which caused the guard to relax in turn, his hand no longer hovering near his weapon.

"Hadrian and I were out drinking last night. Since we were closer to his place than mine, I decided to crash here."

While it was technically true that the Cousland Castle "bar" was closer to Hadrian's side of the castle, the guard could have been on a 12-hour shift, starting at the 3rd hour to the moon. He would have known that the two boys were _not_ at the bar that night but Nathan was going to risk it.

"Ohh. I see, pardon me, my lord. I'm new here and I don't want anything happening to my lord and his family."

The guard's cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and Nathan sighed. Newbies. The guard saluted him with a gauntleted fist before marching away. Nathan waited until the corridor was briefly empty before shutting the door.

"Nathan? Is everything ok?"

Hadrian was still in bed, but his eyes were more alert and Nathan found himself getting aroused again by those piercing blue eyes. He forgot to tell Hadrian that blue was his favourite colour; then again, the Cousland probably already knew that.

"It's nothing, Hadrian," Nathan replied, locking the door behind him to ensure that they won't be interrupted next time. He strode over to the bed and leaned in to kiss his lover.

"Mmpffhh!" Hadrian moaned into the kiss and his hands clutched at the Howe's broad shoulders.

"There's nothing else to do on a free day like this," Nathan whispered in a husky tone and Hadrian's arms wrapped around his waist, pulling the Howe forward. "How about we continue our session, hmm?"

"Yes, please,"

The only sounds in the bedroom were breathy moans and sheets rustling.

-o0o

Apparently, Nathan was too forgiving with the guard and he assumed that the guard hadn't seen anything. Guards were paid to keep their mouths shut, but beer has a tendency to loosen one's lips. The Howe had just left his lover's room to head back to his when he was accosted by his own father, eyes darkened in unexplainable fury.

"Father? What's the matter?"

Rendon Howe merely motioned for his son to follow down another hallway, into his own quarters. Satisfied that no one was around, he faced his youngest son and slapped him hard on the cheek, leaving a red mark to well up.

"By the Maker, father!" Nathan shouted, angry at the physical assault. His father had never hit him before. He usually reserved his anger for the servants at the castle.

"Stupid boy!" Rendon spat at him in a venomous tone. "What in the Maker's arse are you doing, fooling around with that brat?"

"Brat?" Suddenly, it dawned on Nathan that his father may have heard about their affair, but from who?

"No one told me directly," Rendon answered his silent question, now pacing the space they were in. He was most distressed about this. It was bad enough that Fergus, despite his flirtations with his daughter, clearly had no intention in marrying her. Now, the Arl had to worry about this scandalous affair getting to the other nobles. He had to nip this in the butt, and do it now.

"I have a friend in Kirkwall who needs someone as a squire," his father said abruptly, standing in front of his son. Nathan disliked the manipulative twinkle in his father's eyes. He always had that cold, calculating look whenever he was planning something, even something as simple as his children's birthdays.

"Why?"

"His squire recently had a riding accident and died; he needs a new one to replace him. In fact, we're leaving tomorrow, so see to Bryce's brat, and pack up. We're leaving first thing tomorrow."

Before Nathan could even protest, his father had already left the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

-o0o-

_Several moments later..._

"Actually, my father's sending me away," Nate said, the chair once again slamming down hard on the stoned floor. His hands wrung themselves and his feet fidgeted, "to the Free Marches."

The Howe's eyes now no longer gazed at him but found the wall behind Hadrian very interesting, despite its lack of decoration and interesting portraits. Hadrian was quite surprised at the news and he couldn't figure out what to say to his best friend. Arl Rendon Howe picked Nate as his favourite, even though he was the youngest out of the Howe siblings. He also knew of Nate's worshiping of him as well. So why? Why would his father send him away to a foreign land?

"It's for squire duty, he says," Nate went on, trying to sound stoic but failing miserably at it with his body language.

"Is it because…" Hadrian hesitated for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should express himself, especially when Nate was at a low point in an emotional roller coaster.

"He didn't say so, not to me," Nate answered his unasked question, "but he heard rumors. "

"Oh," was the monosyllable reply and it was Hadrian's turn to shift awkwardly, also finding the wall behind Nate interesting.

He should have known that this kind of thing wouldn't last, not with Arl Howe haunting his sons' every step. No wonder Thomas Howe decided to join the King's personal guard, to get away from his suspicious father.

"I guess there was no chance of us, after all," Nate whispered quietly to him, not wanting to be overheard by other people, guards or none.

His hand gripped Hadrian's tightly and there was an answering grasp. The two youths looked at each other again and the sense of loss, of something that could have been more between them than close friendship hung heavy in the air, blanketing them in silence. Their faces were already inches away from each other and it would have been so easy for Nate to place his lips on top of the Cousland's. He couldn't risk it though, not even for a final good-bye. Hadrian, on the other hand, had other ideas and as soon as no one was watching them, he leaned forward and gave Nate a passionate, farewell kiss. After that, Nate pulled away at the sound of footsteps from the corridor. He cupped Hadrian's face with his larger hand, to which Hadrian leaned into it, his eyes closing at the gentle affection Nate was showing him. The warmth of his friend's hand left him, causing him to open his eyes, only to find Nate already having left the room. His action spared him in seeing the mournful expression on Nate's face, but it still hurt nonetheless.

The following day, the Howes were leaving for their home in Amaranthine and the families said their good-byes. Bryce and Rendon fiercely hugged each other while the two mothers pecked on each other's cheeks. The siblings merely waved good-bye, not showing any signs of affection, especially Nathan and Hadrian, who avoided each other's stares. Delilah, knowing everything that's going on between her brothers and the Cousland siblings, truly wanted to jab Nate in the ribs for not even saying a 'good-bye' but her mouth shut at the sight of Nate's mournful gaze. Her brother had talked to her late last night about his conversation with Hadrian and she too hated their father for doing this. A sharp but mindful girl, she observed the subtle signs of the two wanting to be with each other: the brush of hands, the flush on the cheeks whenever a compliment was given to him by the other person, and just the way they acted around each other. It was cruel of her father to do this to Nate. Too cruel and she had an inkling that the home trip was going to be troublesome between the present son and the father.

Her carriage ready, Delilah gave the boys a kiss on the cheeks and she took delight in causing Fergus to blush all the way from his ears to his torso. Her hands lifted up her plain riding skirt, one that wouldn't be missed if she had mud and dirt on it, and, with some help from the porter, climbed into the construct. Nate was already in there, in a foul mood as well. She was definitely not going to have fun traveling back home. Her mother settled in the seat across from them, a mirror lying across her lap.

"Now, dears," she crooned, her head nudging in the direction of the waving Couslands, "wave good-bye. You won't be seeing them for a long while."

"I thought we were going to be seeing them before Summermere Tournament, for Fergus' birthday?"

"Your father will be busy in the next few years, so no, we won't be attending either event unfortunately."

Delilah became disappointed at this. She was really looking forward to seeing Fergus again and Hadrian too. What could be so important to her father that they couldn't afford a simple visit to the Couslands? The carriage bumped up and she looked out of the window, noticing a very familiar young man standing in the crowd of guards that had waved them. _Could that be him? But Father said he was running errands at Dragon's Peak…_The young man glared at her and she quickly averted her gaze, experiencing a horrifying sensation that something ill was brewing and it involved that man.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Knowing Strangers**

_Notes_:

Ages of characters:

Hadrian – 15; about to be sixteen.

Teagan – 20

Fergus – 19.5

Eamon – 29

Isolde – 25

Connor – 4

Alistair – 17

Cailan – 16, going on to 17

This occurs ten years after Alistair was sent away.

_Blah_ - thoughts

'_blah'_ – quote from someone

Thanks to the following:

Reviewers: **Aki** (your reviews are awesome and highly encouraging!), **Galen Hithwen **(thanks for the comment about 'going outside the box'; :D), **Detrimental Sunshine** (I always wanted to have a Cousland background; I think it would make the tragic events in Human Noble Origin that much more tragic), Raven Jadewolfe (I hate Rendon Howe with a passion...Maker curse that man!), and **YoshisSupport **(It's going to be a while until he meets with Alistair, but when he does, even the Maker will have a nosebleed!)

Favs: _YoshisSupport, Madness of Angels, GjGgirl009, Malhann Hawke, Alasse Telrunya, and Ladywhipple_

Alerts: _YoshisSupport, Detrimental Sunshine, Galen Hithwen_, _GjGgirl009, _Black rose dark angel, Taisenokami, Maldai, Hikari Kaiya, HollyisMyName, Smalville-HarryPotterfan13

Anonymous readers: thanks to all who gave their time in reading this series.

I promise to you all that it will be worth the read!

-o0o-

It got terribly lonely at the Castle for Hadrian Cousland. Only three weeks passed since the Howes' departure but he had already missed the warm presence of Nathan. When Nathan's father indirectly separated them by sending Nathan on a squire duty, which Hadrian knew it to be an excuse and not out of a real need, the latter wondered on the what ifs already. He was only fifteen years old and yet he had already begun to feel some regrets.

His parents knew that their son was missing the absent Howe, but they didn't know the exact reason why. Only Fergus could know and Eleanor was determined in finding out what ailed her youngest son.

She had her servant hunt Fergus down and twenty minutes later, there was a soft knock on her door, which opened slowly after her audible permission. Fergus stood in the doorway, a perplexed expression etched on his handsome face. Eleanor watched him walk through the door and when he sat across from her on the bed, she realized at how much he had grown. His whiskers were maturing around his face, but he had spent the time to shave his jaw, leaving barely seen stubble that only added the mature look to him. His dark brown hair, darkened from the original silver colour as a small child, was brushed carefully and no bangs covered his eyes, leaving them bare to the world and its onlookers. Unlike Hadrian's startling blue eyes, Fergus' were of a hazel colour and if one looked even closer, they could see a ring of gold surrounding the iris.

He had chosen to appear before her in his evening suit, one that consisted of an Antivan tunic, its burgundy colour a lovely match with the deep blue shade of his trousers, which were Orlesian in origin. Eleanor had to say that even though the Orlesians were their previous conquerors, the nobles really had a taste for fashion and quality in clothes. Just the trousers alone were of finest silk and very expensive. She inwardly winced at the price the tailor asked or rather politely demanded from her. 50 sovereigns for it! She could have bought the exact same pair in Denerim for a quarter of the price. Of course, she was on very friendly terms with Kelia, the shop owner, but that was beside the point.

Seeing her son fidget almost nervously before her, she put a sharp rein on her drifting thoughts. She had a goal to meet and it was to see why Hadrian was moping around the castle. No, not moping. He still did his chores and they were performed wonderfully, an unusual behaviour for a boy approaching his 16th winter's harvests. Whenever she asked him to make his bed, he would do it right then and there. His father's requests to train and clean his equipment were met with equal vigor. However, at the dinner table, he was strangely quiet; his eyes were often found frequenting the seat opposite him and Eleanor had realized that Nate would sit there whenever he and his family were visiting. Now though, it was just an empty seat, bereft of its handsome occupant.

"Mum?"

_Damn it! I'm drifting again!_ Eleanor quickly composed herself, trying to look like the stern mother that she had always been. However, the smirk on her son's face made her fail miserably and she decided that sometimes the best way to get information is to be direct.

"Something is wrong with your brother." It wasn't a question but a statement, one borne of a week's observations and a mother's intuition. Fergus' eyes widened and she knew immediately that her hunch was right. Apparently, whatever was wrong with Hadrian had made him uncomfortable enough to talk to anyone, even with his parents.

At first her son didn't' say anything, and then just when she was about to prod him on, he took a deep breath and his posture relaxed. In turn, she too relaxed. Maybe she was just overreacting.

"He's ok, mother. Perhaps it's best if you talk to him though."

"He's nowhere to be found, Fergus. Even the elves don't know where he is and that ugly mongrel is missing too. How can my son and a large mutt be missing in plain sight?"

"I don't know mother. Maybe he doesn't want to be found."

"Fergus," her tone, no longer amused and having an edge of frustration to it, became deeper and Fergus fidgeted again. _Hadrian needs to get his head out of its ass and talk to mother! She's scary when she gets mad and I'm a man already!_

"Look, you know how the Howes left so suddenly? They were supposed to be here for an entire month. Don't you think it's strange that they would only be here for a week, at most?"

"Yes, I noticed their abrupt departure. It's too bad that you flat out refused Delilah's hand, even after all that time you spent with her!"

_Ahh, yes, mother must have heard about that…_Fergus winced at the harsh tone but she quieted, letting him continue with his story.

"Well, he was just himself, happy and goofy as always. Then as soon as they leave, he's all depressive and lonely. You know that Delilah was with me the entire time. As for Nate, well, he was with Hadrian."

The silence that rolled over was deadly and ominous. His mother's face paled considerably and her jaw clenched, her mouth working to say something but couldn't. Fergus inhaled and he prepared himself for her usual outburst of disapproval. Instead of her horrible shouting and yelling, she hugged him, her arms wrapping themselves around his broad frame.

"Thank you, that's all I need to know," she whispered to him before kissing him on the cheek. "I'm sure you have work to do and there's a certain boy I need to find,"

Fergus was really shocked by his mother's behaviour, but then again, he shouldn't be. He wasn't given much time to respond as his mother rushed him out of her bedroom, with her closing the door behind them. She turned to face her eldest son and she asked him a weird question.

"You are still single, yes? We must arrange something then."

Before he could say something, she had already started heading out to the Training Grounds. The lamps were lit in the corridors and the sun's rays had declined below the castle walls. It was already 4th hour to the moon and Fergus thought it strange that his mother would be heading out that way instead of walking towards her sewing chambers. He hoped that this time Hadrian would be found and that there would be a smile on his brother's face.

-o0o-

Whatever Fergus had wished for came true the next few days. Hadrian's steps were lighter and his face once again beamed happily at his family members as well as the guards, who too were getting rather worried for their Lord's son. The elder Cousland really must prod his brother for information. What could his mother have done that he couldn't do himself, as Hadrian's own brother? True, they were four years apart but besides the parents, they were all they had. He finally had an opportunity to corner his brother, so to speak, after their regular sparring session.

They had just finished their final round, with Fergus ending it with a sword strike that would have neatly cut through Hadrian's neck, even with a neck guard on. Afterwards, the two brothers retreated to the Cleaning Rooms and sought out for their private rooms, where no guards were permitted inside, except with a written permission from a Cousland. It was there that Fergus discovered how his mother managed to get Hadrian to open up.

"So what did mum say to you?" Fergus asked his brother, pulling off a sweat-drenched shirt and toweling his upper half with a clean towel. Hadrian was working on getting out of his greaves and he had managed to wriggle himself into a pair of loose pants before answering. "She persuaded me by saying that I would have to help her out with girl stuff. And then I told her that I was fey."

"What? I-I didn't know that." Fergus spluttered unmanly, dropping the now dirty towel on the stoned floor. Wow, he had no idea that his own brother was that _way_. If word got out that his own brother was fey, it would prove dire for the Cousland House. Ferelden was known for two things: smelling like dogs and their propensity to show disapproval of anyone engaging in the lewd acts of the Maker, such as same-sex relationships. Thankfully, after King Jorly II's decree that anyone caught harassing the populace due to his or her preferences would be treated the same way, the persecution had decreased drastically. Sadly, it only worsened the situation for those were fey as the punishments for their unnatural ways were meted out in the dark alleys, away from innocent and not so innocent witnesses.

Hadrian stiffened at his brother's expletives and he was disheartened that even his brother would think him different. He was right in not telling Fergus about this particular secret. His change in manner caught Fergus' eye and the elder Cousland sighed heavily, knowing that perhaps his curses were uncalled for. He had known Hadrian for all of his life and this one tidbit wasn't going to change the fact that he loved his brother.

"Hadrian," Fergus started to say, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not bothered by that. I'm just hurt that you couldn't tell _me_. I'll gut Nathan for this, I promise you."

"No! I mean, it wasn't Nate's fault."

"How can you protect that guy! He's the one that put you in this miserable state!"

"Fergus, it wasn't his fault! I'm quite sure it was his father's hand in all this."

"His father? You mean Rendon knows about this, about you?"

"Well, he didn't exactly see us, but-"

"By the Maker, Hadrian!"

"Calm down, Fergus," Hadrian stood up, having already dressed himself up while Fergus was too busy gawking at him, still half-dressed. "I know some things that would make him not even consider exploiting my secrets."

The firm tone made it clear that the conversation was ended and Fergus could only look helplessly on his brother, who was fast disappearing from his view. However, Fergus was not wondering at how fast Hadrian was walking away from him, but how he had changed so much over the past few weeks. Where was the happy go lucky boy that Fergus knew? The memories of their childhood pranks erupted forth but they were hidden away by the shadows of the present. He knew that his little brother would have a troubling future and swore that Nathan would pay for his transgression.

-o0o-

Dinnertime was quiet again and Bryce was having quite enough of this unusual silence that reigned their family time with a heavy hand. Eleanor had come to him, almost in tears, several hours earlier and he spent all his time comforting her. He managed to come up with some understanding of her words that were said as coherently as possible in between her light sobs and frustrated moans. Unlike Fergus who didn't see it coming though, Bryce wasn't surprised at all to hear of his youngest son's way. He wasn't happy about it, but he wasn't shocked or saddened by it. His older brother, Maker bless his heart, was that way too and he discovered it too late after going through a loveless marriage.

Bryce remembered with a sore heart at seeing his brother's broken body lying slumped against his own desk, a sharp blade protruding from his back, wet in blood. His brother, Lloyd, couldn't take it anymore and had opted to take his own life, leaving behind an estranged son and a very happy wife, a woman that Bryce still disliked to this very day. He shivered at the image of his youngest son replacing that of Lloyd and the knife in his hand snapped in two, the wood breaking into splinters that now stabbed into his palm rather painfully.

"Darling, are you ok?"

A sweet voice asked after him and he looked down at the broken knife, marveling at how easily this fragile thing could be broken. Was this how Hadrian was to meet his fate in the end? To marry under false pretenses and then suffer for it? No, Bryce would rather have no heirs and have a happy son than otherwise. Nothing was more important than his family's happiness.

Speaking of which, he had noticed that Fergus was still single and he was approaching his twentieth summers, an age where a male noble should be engaged to another female noble. Hmmm. He recently received a missive fro Arl Eamon, who requested his presence for his son's fourth birthday, as the Couslands were the boys' close parents [?]. Perhaps a nice diversion away from the castle would prove good for all of them.

"Yes, dear," Bryce used a clean cloth, provided by another servant, and pulled out the splinters. "I have some good news for you all."

All heads looked up from their plates to centre on him.

"Arl Eamon's little boy is having his fourth birthday. He wishes us to be there by the New Moon, which is in two weeks and that will give us plenty of time to get there by horse."

-o0o-

Two weeks was more than enough for the trip to Redcliffe. Apparently the Arl thought so too and he had arranged guards to be posted along the bridge that was located just before the Village's entrance. The guards, seeing the Cousland Crest of the Wolf's Head, saluted immediately. The gates opened and the carriage, followed by a small troupe of the most trusted guards, entered the premises of Redcliffe Castle. The Guerrins were waiting patiently for them at the main gates of Redcliffe castle, a little boy clutching nervously at his mother's skirts. The driver pulled back the reins, bringing the carriage to a slow halt. The horses nickered in protest but nonetheless stopped.

"Hello, you must be Hadrian," Eamon's hand clasped his and Hadrian realized that his gray hair was very deceiving. The strength behind that clasp told the young Cousland that were he to enter a duel with him, he would lose for sure. "Oh my, you have grown quite a bit since I last saw you,"

Hadrian didn't remember seeing the Arl before. It must have been when he was still a baby. His mother confirmed it by saying in return, "well, Eamon, 5-year olds can't stay that age forever."

Eamon laughed at the statement. He shook his head and then stepped back to reveal a young redhead with a little boy in tow. He picked up the cowering son and settled him next to his chest, perched safely on his arm. "This little one here is the birthday boy, Connor. See hello to them, son."

"Hello."

"He still doesn't quite have those 'l' sounds down yet. Blame it on my wife's accent." The Arl earned a sharp elbow from the young lady standing beside him.

"Husband, it is difficult to teach him both Orlesian and Ferelden." Isolde huffed, her eyes glaring pointedly at her wounded husband. She turned to regard the Couslands with a haughty eye, most particularly the young 15 year old, who was remarkably at her height. _Oh my. He's a tall one for his age. And silver hair, still? Fergus' hair turned brown by this time._

"I am Isolde," she curtsied politely to him. Hadrian didn't know what to make of this woman. She was of Orlesian nobility, as evidenced by her high cheekbones and small jaw. Her green eyes glinted coldly through her eyelashes and she smelled _off_ to him. He didn't know how he could smell her, but she smelled dangerous and there was an aura of something around her. Not necessarily dark or evil. But there was definitely something there that made Hadrian feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Milady," he replied as politely as he could and the four year-old boy laughed in his father's arms, pointing out at how his hair made him look old.

"Fergus, how goes your training?" Eamon had moved on to his brother, who stood patiently beside him. The two men shook hands. "I hear from your father that this one."

Eamon's grey head nudged in Hadrian's direction. "I hear this one's been giving you a hard time."

"It's because I let him," Fergus made a smart comeback but both brothers knew that it was just a cover-up, that Hadrian really was getting better and better every day. It was as if his younger brother had a sixth sense or something like that. He asked his father about it, but his father brushed his concerns off with a hand and a cryptic statement. '_His senses are just growing'_. What the heck does that mean?

"I'm sure it's more than that. Maybe Teagan can find out for himself."

"Where is Teagan by the way?" Fergus was looking for the young Geurrin brother, who was absent in this reunion between old friends. He had hoped to see the boy soon. They had much to talk about.

"Oh, he just finished his sparring session. More than likely he is bathing himself. Come, let's go inside. It's quite warm, even for the summer months." The Couslands followed the leading Arl and his lady back into the cool interior of the castle.

Several hours later, all the adults had sat around the fireplace, trading stories about their lives. The boys, however, were off doing their own thing. There was still some sun left in the day and Teagan wanted to test Hadrian's skills in combat himself. He knew that though Fergus was no warrior, he excelled with the bow and short blades. Going against Fergus with a mighty sword and shield would prove unfair. Hadrian, on the other hand, was another story. His father, who was always in communication with the Couslands, had told Teagan that he better sharpen his skills if he wanted to be known for his battle prowess.

And apparently, Bryce Cousland wasn't exaggerating about his son's prowess in battle. Teagan found this out the hard way and earned bruises and some minor cuts from his skirmish with the young Cousland. He pulled off his armor and winced when one of his ribs protested with the movement. _Damn, he got me good there!_ He gingerly rubbed his torso and was relieved to not feel any abnormal bumps that would herald a cracked or broken rib. Hadrian had apologized quite profusely afterward and his change in personality completely baffled the younger Guerrin. How could this boy switch from being a nice, innocent boy to a completely focused warrior, who was bent on defeating his opponent. Luckily, both him and the boy had learned self-control. Otherwise, the both of them would be lying in the Infirmary Wing, with healers hovering over them.

After dressing himself in more comfortable clothes, he sought out the boys and found them conversing with the ladies of the castle. While Fergus was conversing with a very pretty young lady, Hadrian was idly listening to a female blonde, who was too oblivious to realize that her companion was entirely not interested in her at all.

Hadrian's eyes, glazed over in boredom, managed to find his and they brightened, as if saying, _please help me!_

Teagan just shook his head at the young boy's predicament and decided that he would help rescue the poor boy from the lady's idle talk.

"Ah, there you two." He said and he walked towards the group. "Shall we move to a comfortable place, like where our parents are, perhaps?"

"Well, Oriana and I were thinking of just going out for a walk in the castle. She wants to give me a tour of the castle," Fergus replied and Teagan saw that _look_ on the elder Cousland's face.

_By the Maker, she already has him wrapped around her finger!_ The young redhead wasn't worried about them though. Oriana, despite being Isolde's close friend, was the opposite of the Arlessa. Where the Arlessa's face was seemingly cold and harsh, Oriana just radiated kindness and beauty. Her short rusty brown hair did nothing to hide her green eyes that peeped out from fine lashes. The lady was slim of build and she was a few inches shorter than Fergus. Teagan knew better than to be deceived by the fragile appearance of Oriana. One, Oriana had come from a wealthy Antivan family. Secondly, there was a popular phrase about Antivan women in particular. _They kill with kindness and poison_. He had seen Oriana play with a writing utensil with a skill of an experienced dagger user. The way her fingers played nimbly with the item and how she fiddled it so carelessly. Antiva was notably known for its Assassins. What was the name again? Ah, yes, the Crows. He shuddered at the thought of the Crows finding his family a target. They could hold out against an army of darkspawn or men but not even armor could prevent the person from being killed with a well-placed stab of a Crow's dagger.

"Ok, just remember that Connor's birthday celebration is tomorrow. We're having it early because someone decided to show up a few days early."

There was a round of laughter and the couple started to head out, waving their farewells to those left behind. It was almost as if Oriana was the only reason for the other girls to be there. As soon as she left, the other female nobles gave weak excuses such as needing to bathe right before the celebration, although it wasn't until tomorrow. Hadrian didn't protest and he was actually relieved to see the ladies strolling away from them, their annoying high-pitched voices still heard even some few feet away.

"Are you ok? I saw you wincing when you came over," Hadrian's eyes gazed at his friend's sore ribs thoughtfully. He hadn't meant to hit that hard. All he could think of while fighting him was to win, to win hard and fast.

"Yeah, I am. Nothing broken or even cracked." Teagan's answer was unsatisfactory but Hadrian didn't push it. "You want to see the horses?"

"Weren't we just there?"

"Well, we were kinda too busy fighting."

"Ok, then,"

The boys arrived at the stables and Teagan showed him his own personal horse. It was an Antivan _Palemano_, a thoroughbred horse and a very pretty one too. The light of the stables didn't do the horse justice but Hadrian could still see the shiny brown coat stretching and twitching over moving muscles. Its face regarded him coolly and the young Cousland placed a hand in front of him, allowing the horse to smell him. It reared back its head and jumped back. Eyes rolled back wildly and the horse jumped nervously in its stable. Teagan's hands shot out to catch the reins in time and he called out to his horse in a quiet tone, trying to calm him. It was already too late though. The other horses were also prancing around in their stables, their front legs pawing the ground nervously.

"By the Maker, what's going on?" He shouted over the horse's screams.

He was still trying to hold the horse's rein in his hands. Hadrian was confused himself. Usually animals were lured to his presence. Then again, most animals were canines. Even wolves in the Breckland Woods would permit him to touch them. However, his Family's horses never gave this reaction to him. Perhaps they were long used to him and his family.

"I probably should leave," Hadrian said and he walked out of the stables. When he did, the horses immediately calmed down, but theirs ears were still flattened over their heads and their teeth bared angrily. He waited for Teagan to calm the horses down. He watched the young man then check to see if they had enough food and water for the night. If the stable boys had done their jobs right, there would be enough to last the horses all night and the morning. The pails of oats and water were full to the brim and Teagan made a note that he would have to praise the stable boys for doing a good job.

"You know, the horses act like that whenever your brother's around. Same with your dad," Teagan pointed out as both he and Hadrian went in the direction of the Common Rooms, where their parents would be.

"Oh really? I didn't know that,"

"Yeah, it's really strange. I don't know what to think of it."

_Neither do I, friend_. The boys didn't talk anymore, lost in their own thoughts of the recent event.

-o0o-

The next day, thankfully, did not include horse riding and Hadrian had a suspicious feeling that it had to with the way the horses were acting in his family's presence. They even shied away from his own mother, which really shocked him. His mother was the kindest woman ever known, except when punishing the boys of course. On second thought, she can be a very scary lady. Hadrian still remembered at how she embarrassed both boys when the last prank they pulled had accidentally caused one of them to be injured. She forbade them from doing any more antics and forced them into helping her do 'housework.' Even the elven servants were stunned to see the Cousland boys helping them out every day for that month of punishment.

A chorus of laughter rang out in the room as the little boy, instead of blowing out the candles, rather smashed his hands in the cake. Isolde scolded her son gently and propped him against the seat again when his body threatened to fall over into the large cake. This time, he managed to blow out the candles and he giggled as he watched the flames snuff out of existence. However, no one noticed the slight blue flare that flashed in the boy's eyes, no one except for Hadrian who watched him with curious eyes.

Hadrian brought up the topic with Teagan a few days later. They were in the library this time and Hadrian was scooping out a book titled _Tevinter Imperium: History of Arcane Arts and its Effects_. He knew that education was vital for any nobles who hoped to involve themselves in the matters of the King's Court. To outwit someone in a game of knowledge such as King's Tome, a game of cards that required the person to name the appropriate face on the card and tell three main points of that person, would secure the awe of any dumber person and sometimes prizes were to be won, prizes such as rare manuscripts such as the one in front of Hadrian. However, magic books were quite rare and only limited to the Circle of Magi. Why was it doing out here in Lady Isolde's books?

"Please, mesere, that book is private," a timid voice said to him and he looked up to see a young dainty-looking female elf. Garbed in loose servant tunics in dull colours of blue and brown, she stood before the boys in a nervous posture. Her hands were twisting with each other while her feet shuffled. It looked like as if she was holding to go relieve herself but couldn't.

"Kallia, if books are here, then they are most certainly _not _ private." Teagan replied in a neutral tone. Apparently not everyone shared his family's view on the elven people. Hadrian gave her a kind smile and returned it back to her. Once the book was in her grasp, she turned around and walked away at a brisk pace.

"Excuse her for her bad manners, Hadrian," Teagan apologized to his friend, but Hadrian didn't mind it. He was even more curious at why there was a book on the Arcane Arts out here in the first place. When the young Cousland asked him, Teagan's strange behaviour caused red flags to wave in Hadrian's mind. The older boy's head swiveled from side to side and his eyes roved over his surroundings. They weren't entirely alone as they espied an older man dressed in a tutor's robe teaching a very boring history lesson to a quartet of boys, who were slumping together.

"Come with me," Teagan rose up from his chair and the tone of the boy's voice made no room for debate. Hadrian followed his friend to a more private room, in fact, it was Teagan's own study. Several bookshelves and a desk took much of the walls of the room up. Small trinkets decorated the otherwise bare bookshelves while pens and papers were stacked neatly on the desk, giving the whole room an almost Spartan feel.

"That book," Teagan began and Hadrian heard his voice tremble slightly. "It was meant to be in Lady Isolde's private collection. I have no idea how it got out. Someone must have been looking at it before you and I don't know who."

Teagan had always acted so confidently, so sure whenever they were around with each other.

"I thought all books concerning magic were supposed to be contained at the Circle."

"I know but Lady Isolde insists on collecting rare items such as these."

"Does she even read them?" Orlesian women were more known for flaunting their bodices around and showing off their fashion tastes. Lady Isolde was already an enigma to Hadrian with her odd smell and that dark aura that surrounded her. She was not the only one to have it either. Conner possessed something too and the way his eyes flashed a few moments ago, albeit briefly, clearly told Hadrian that the child was not normal. He could be a Mage. Should he say something? He knew how doting Lady Isolde was, especially if the way she coddled him in front of everybody today had anything to say about it. Even Arl Eamon spoiled his only son as well, bestowing gifts on him lasciviously and Connor was only four. Hadrian shuddered to think how deep Connor's gifts could dig in Arl Eamon's treasury when the boy would turn thirteen and began his rite of passage. It was a good thing the Arl was one of the richest and most powerful nobles in all of Ferelden. The only ones higher-ranking than the Geurrins were the Couslands, an old and distinguished line that dated back to the times of King Calenhad himself. However, there was no such thing as a mage noble, no matter what his origins were. If word ever got out that Connor was a Mage, the Chantry would send Templars over quicker than one could say 'happy birthday' and then imprison him in that Circle. He had been to the Circle himself once to visit a friend of his, Loren Amell, and he hated it. The atmosphere was claustrophobic and every minute Hadrian was in there, visiting Loren, he could feel eyes boring holes in the back of his head. If it was that bad for a few hours for him as a visitor, he couldn't imagine how terrifying it was be for his friend who lived there. Sure, the Circle was necessary for it provided the Templars to watch over all the mages in Ferelden. Still, even Hadrian could see that it was little more than a prison, tall and completely shut off from the world. No, Hadrian wouldn't say anything. Connor deserved some years of happiness before the Templars would come and drag him away.

"You're thinking of something, Hadrian," Teagan interjected smartly and a grin played on the younger man's lips.

"I was just thinking of how Lady Isolde could come across it. Orlesian women love clothes and shoes," Hadrian said smoothly, "not books."

"I have no idea," Teagan said and he sat down on his chair, his thumbs twirling around each other in lazy circles. "I do know that she has secrets. However, that woman is a monster when you cross her. Touch one hair on her little boy and she'll go bloody mad on you. Almost tore off a block's arm off when he accidentally pushed Connor down."

"I think that's the same with every mother, Teagan."

"True, true. You have a point there."

Both boys let out a mirthful chuckle and they sighed as one. Soon voices clamored rather loudly outside their room and there were loud shouts of 'Connor.' It was time to get back to the party, which apparently had come to the Library itself.

-o0o-

_To Arl Rendon Howe,_

_It would seem that your speculations are true and evidenced by a number of observations. The most prominent one is the increased frequents of missives sent from B. Cousland to a young lady named Jacquelyn in Orlais. I know there is a Jacquelyn I but she is a high-ranking noble in Orlais, perhaps third in line to the throne. Also, there is talk amongst the guards that the Couslands have a fey. I suspect it is the younger son. What would you have me do with him? Accidents happen all the time in noble families._

_ Kind regards,_

_ E. Gilmore_

The writer perused over the note, making sure that he left out none of the pertinent information. When he found no mistakes, he folded the letter until it was a third of its size. A pigeon cooed from its cage and he gently took the bird out of its prison. The letter was attached to the pigeon's leg and he took it to the window of the kitchen. It was late at night and the location he was at hid from the guards' watchful eyes. He double-checked though. It wouldn't do to have this letter fall into the wrong hands. Satisfied with the lack of people in his vicinity, he thrust the bird into the air quite sharply and the creature's wings opened in its attempt not to fall down. Once it balanced itself, it faced northward, towards Amaranthine, and took off.

-TBC-

**A/N:** I know that this part of the story is kind of slow but please bear with me as it will pick up soon, especially when the Couslands are betrayed by one of their own (guess who it is?). Any feedback is welcome. Do you love it? Hate it (please provide a reasonable explanation instead of just ranting)? Are there any suggestions? Any characters that are OOC? I tried to have them stick to the mainstream characterization but I want to flesh them out as well. Also, don't forget about the poll displayed on my profile! Thanks again for reading! :D

PS. For anonymous reviewers, if you still want to decide Fergus' fate, please vote in your review! (I think you would have to login to vote in a poll although I'm not sure)


	8. Chapter 8

_/blah/_ Wolf speaking

_/blah/_ Someone talking in flashback

_blah_ thought

**blah** High Lord of the Wolves speaking

**Chapter 8: Hiding in Plain Sight**

Eian Gilmore was an honorable man stuck between a rock and a hard place. As a younger child, he was poor and had wandered aimlessly around the countryside of Amaranthine. It wasn't until he was taken in by Arl Howe as a teenager when he realized that life was something more than just scrounging for food and seeking shelter from the harsh rains of the Maker. Arl Howe was a lot younger back then. He was also a lot nicer as well and not caught up in court politics. The Orlesian Occupation was the most prominent thing on his mind, as it was on everybody else's as well.

The Orlesians were in their last desperate stretch of maintaining control on the Fereldens, who were clamouring for freedom and fighting for it under one banner, the banner of King Maric. Arl Howe was actively seeking volunteers for his army, who would aide the King in fighting against the Orlesians at the final battle, the one that would mark Loghain as the Hero of River Dane. Even young males were taken in, despite their innocence and naivete in the rapaciousness of war and politics. Young males were most malleable and could be shaped into any form as their superiors saw fit. It was in him that Arl Howe sought to mold his ideas, the ideas of freedom and terrible honor.

When the last battle was fought and King Maric reclaimed his mother's usurped throne, Eian thought he would finally settle down and have a family. Unfortunately, Howe had asked him one final favour before he could do so. /_To prevent this one from occurring, to hinder traitors from reaping benefits of their actions, look out for any signs. Any signs, Even from the King's own family and friends./ _That was what Arl Howe had told him and at first, Eian Gilmore was tempted to refuse the favour. However, blood debts had stronger holds than anything else, even sovereigns. Arl Howe _had_ taken him in and, throughout his whole career as Howe's right hand man, he fought for Ferelden's freedom.

Thus, ever since King Maric took the throne, he kept a watchful eye on the people surrounding the King. He even had an eye on the young King Cailan, a rambunctious little boy in the early days of Maric's rule. He was truly happy to see Ferelden prosper under the stern but mercy hand of King Maric. Perhaps Howe was too paranoid about the Orlesians wanting to finish what they had started: to conquer Ferelden by any means. Unfortunately, the presence of the Grey Wardens made him wary, more so out of the fact that there was an Orlesian female elf hanging around the King, even if it was a short while. He was fairly certain that she was no blood mage, but one couldn't be too careful. It was expected for any man to look for a warm body after the passing of his wife. Did it have to be an Orlesian though? That observation irked Eian since then and he watched with a careful eye.

Ever since Rowan passed into the Fade, King Maric had changed dramatically. He had always been a carefree man, even with the burden of Ferelden placed on his shoulders. However, he became more withdrawn after Rowan's death, more antisocial. It wasn't long until he embarked on another Deep Roads Expedition, where he possibly hoped to meet his death fighting the dreaded Darkspawn. Upon his return though, it was as if King Maric was himself again and he started paying more attention to his son, Cailan, who was just six years old.

This sudden change of behaviour intrigued Eian to no end and he had to find out the details. After losing an undesirable amount of coin to obtain information, he found out that King Maric had indeed been involved with an Orlesian woman. Her name was Fiona. To make the situation even worse, Fiona was an Elf Mage. Why did the King have to choose to dally with her when he had all the female nobles fawning over him back at home? What in the Maker was he thinking? The affair did not last long though and Fiona had disappeared without a trace. He couldn't find any tracings of her, not even in Orlais itself. It was as if she never existed at all.

He reported this to Arl Howe who just gave him a thin smile. /_Focus on the boy. Forget the woman. She is ultimately of no consequence./_ No consequence? It was as if Howe was ready to have her be assassinated if she stayed any longer. Having his own family, he wasn't at all too pleased to hear Howe say that in such a casual way, as if her life was not significant. However, orders were orders.

He focused on the boy for all his life, up until Cailan was sixteen years old and he was very shocked to see that Cailan had been watching him in turn. Why would this boy dumb himself down deliberately? Was it to fool his people? It worked so far. He liked the boy though and could see the inherent goodness in him. When he was discovered spying on him by Cailan himself, Cailan forgave him. A sixteen-year old Princeling _forgave_ him. That befuddled the sharp mind of Eian Gilmore even more.

He actually didn't report this to Howe. There was a fear that Howe would gut him then and there, despite their history. He had a wife and son to take care of and it was really thanks to the Couslands that they finally have a minor house within the castle walls. He even enjoyed the family life, watching over his son and seeing him grow up so quickly warmed his heart. Even good things do not last long though, especially when Howe cruelly reminded him exactly _who_ he was working for. /_You work for me, Eian, not for him! Remember that well./_ Howe forced him to accompany him on excursions to Dragon's Peak, the Bannorns, everywhere else except Highever. It wasn't until the Howes' visit to the Cousland Castle that Howe left him there, with another mission for him. He was getting really tired of all this but this man had saved his life and he owed him.

His own son managed to get in the Cousland's personal entourage of Guards and he wasn't expecting him to suddenly befriend Hadrian. It appeared as if they were involved with each other somehow, as if they were more than just friends. When his son returned home from a grueling day of training, he set him aside and asked him if he was. His son's eyes were as wide as dinnerplates when such a question was asked of him. /_Dad, he and I are just good friends. I know he's fey but I'm not. Don't worry about it. I'll still give you kids someday./_ That was when Eian first found out that Hadrian was fey and he had to report this to Howe. There was no response to his letter that was sent by bird two weeks after the conversation. Then, after a month of hearing no reply, a pigeon landed outside his study window, and there was a missive waiting for him. Howe already knew about this. His next order was to confirm his own observations about the Orlesians coming back into the country. If Hadrian had met with an untimely accident, the suspicion would fall on him without question.

Eian had observed the visits of the Cousland's family to a minor estate just inside the Orlesian border. In their absents, he very discreetly went through their things with gloved hands and a shrewd mind. He found several letters that were locked up in their chest. The locks were of high quality and any thief of lesser skill wouldn't have been to retrieve them without breaking the lock and thus alerting the owner of its mishandling. His heart sank when he read one letter in particular.

_Dear Alpha,_

_ It is my understanding that the King has unfortunately lost his wife, Rowan, to the Darkspawn taint. Perhaps now is the time to see each other once again._

_ It would benefit us both if you could bring your sons as well. We have been waiting to see them for a very long time._

_ Truly yours,_

_ Beta_

The names were coded of course. But why? Was Bryce afraid of someone reading his hidden letters and thinking the worst of him? It was too late now and Eian, with a heavy heart, knew that Howe was right. The letter was dated 8:12, a few days right before the Couslands departure to Redcliffe Castle. Other letters were to be found lying underneath that particular one. Another one, written in very elegant handwriting, caught his attention. It read as the following:

_Jacquelyn,_

_It was good seeing you, after all these years. I hope my sons have impressed even you. Perhaps Celene would like to see them herself. She always did like seeing handsome men with skills in battle. It would do her much honor if she could see them fight._

_ Bryce_

There was no mistaken it now. There was only one Jacquelyn and she was third in line to Empress Celene I. Was Bryce trying to marry off his sons to the Orlesian nobility? That was treachery by law. He didn't have time to read the others when he heard voices in the corridor. He hastily returned everything to its original state and slinked out of the room before Bryce entered it.

With the letters boring holes in his memory, he started his main quest with a heavy heart and knew that the Maker would make him pay dearly for it.

The Couslands had just returned from their trip to Redcliffe Castle. The visit exhausted them and immediately upon their arrival, their servants started helping them out to the Castle, mindful of their Masters' slow movements. Hot baths awaited them and their bodies welcomed the clean sheets with great relish. The elves ensured that food and drink was given to them without haste or spillage. The Couslands had always treated their servants well, better than their noble peers, who held a scornful and reproachful eye to them. To their peers, the servants were nothing. They were here to serve them and only them.

The next day was better received and soon the routine started all over again. The Cousland boys trained and trained from sunup to sunrise while Eleanor chatted amenably with visiting nobles from the surrounding vicinities. Bryce did his own thing, overseeing the Guards and ensuring that everyone was taken care of within his walls. They never knew that someone was observing their activities with a patient eye.

They did throw off their spy in a loop with one strange activity. It occurred on the night of a full moon and it was as if the whole family had disappeared for the whole night. Eian would eventually discover this to be a habit, but he wouldn't find this out until several weeks later after jotting down notes and seeing patterns. What in the Black City were they doing?

-o0o-

Bryce had taken his entire family to the Clearing, where Hadrian drank the waters of the pond. His close servants knew what they were up to and prepared the horses, stuffing the saddlebags with essentials, prior to their leaving. Hadrian was quite confused when his father led them to that site, where he saw that strange ghostly apparition of a wolf. He asked Fergus, who was walking besides him solemnly.

"Just watch and listen, Hadrian," was all Fergus said before silently walking through the woods with light footsteps. The night sky was clear, dotted with sparkling stars and the moon sat in the sky, watching over the four people plus Hadrian's faithful canine companion journey to the large pond. They stopped upon reaching it and Hadrian watched with apprehensive eyes as he saw something take shape on the opposite side of the Pond.

There it was again, that same wolf. Except this time, it was more solid. It seemed to be waiting for them for as soon as they arrived it rose on all fours and loped easily across the pond, and, Hadrian noticed with a shiver, right on top of the water. The wolf was easier to see once it stopped in front of them. Hadrian saw that the wolf was bathed in blue light and his eyes strayed to the moon above them. The moon itself was white so where did the blue colour come from?

_/I see you/_

A voice spoke calmly to them and Hadrian gasped at how the wolf spoke to them but without moving its mouth.

"We see you, Zarieth," Bryce bowed respectively before him. In turn, both his mother and brother bowed as well. Hadrian instinctively followed his family, although he was unsure of what exactly was occurring here.

/_You have brought him here, Alpha. He has grown much since the last./_

"Kids, unfortunately, grow up with time and experience," Bryce murmured in a low voice.

There was a warm chuckle and Hadrian could feel the approval emanating from the reverent beast sitting before them.

/_As do we all. Bring the young pup forward, Alpha./_

Bryce motioned his son to step forward and Hadrian did so, his nervousness increasing with each inch he got closer to the wolf. It seemed as if the wolf was getting bigger and bigger with each step.

/_You are mourning, young pup. But this too will pass._ _Wolves mate for life but Nathan was not to be yours. His path is directed elsewhere./_

"How'd you know?"

/_We know many things, but not the final destination. That is the Maker's secret_. _It is time though for you to accept your duty as a Cousland./_

"Duty?"

Hadrian looked to his family for answers but all they gave him was an encouraging smile. He turned his attention to the wolf.

_/You are the only Cousland to ever drink from this sacred place. Such an event has been unforeseen. The High Lord of the Wolves Himself is confused as to why it occurred in the first place./_

"But why me? What's so special about me?" Hadrian didn't think himself particularly special.

He worked hard to uphold the image of a Cousland: honourable, protective, and dutiful. Other than that, he was just a simple young boy trying to survive in this harsh world of men and beasts.

/_We do not know. We can only accept this and move forward, as we all should do. Give me your hand./_

The request startled the young Cousland and there was another wave of warmth and reassurance coming from the wolf. Feeling assured that the wolf would not harm him or his family, he slowly brought his hand out, palm facing up. The wolf placed his large paw on top of the palm and Hadrian let out a soft gasp as he felt something shift in his mind. His vision then whitened and there was a brief moment of pain before it cleared away.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself still standing before the wolf, but someone was supporting him. It was Fergus' arm around his waist that kept him standing. What happened?

_/It is complete. With this contract in place, you, Bryce, are no longer required to upkeep it. When death comes to you, the contract will not be nullified as it would be./_

"C-c-contract?"

_/Yes. Thanks to your ancestor, the Wolves and the Couslands have always been bound, for good or ill. Only the Alphas were charged to upkeep this. However, the High Lord requested that it be passed to you./_

"What about Fergus?"

_/Fergus is no longer pure_./

"Pure?"

Hadrian turned his head to face Fergus, who was blushing madly. Their mother looked ready to burst with indignation but she kept her mouth shut. It dawned on him then that the wolf meant 'pure' as in the body not being violated in anyway.

"You can keep quit staring at me, brother," Fergus hissed unhappily, but Hadrian knew his brother was too embarrassed to put the full force of the venom in his reply.

"Didn't know you were a virgin until now, Fergus," Hadrian said in a teasing tone. The blush on his brother's face spread and Hadrian could hear the wolf laughing at their banter.

/_Take them back, Alpha. Hadrian will soon need his rest and he won't find it here./_

"Yes, Zarieth," Bryce replied and he beckoned the boys to follow him out of the Clearing.

Once they left, another wolf took up residence besides Zarieth. It was much, much bigger than he and if Hadrian were here to see him, he would have needed another pair of pants to wear.

**Has it been done, Zarieth?**

_/Yes, Alpha./_

**Good. We shall see how this young one fares in the turmoil ahead. If he passes, then this world will change forever.**

-TBC-

A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter is soo short compared to the previous one. I promise that the next two will be longer. It is almost the end of the first arc and there are a couple of things I need to wrap up before we head into _Wolf's Journey. _The second arc, although it will comprise of details from the game, will have 'behind the scenes' parts that will greatly affect the outcome of Thedas' future. So it will not solely be a complete novelization of the game. Stay tuned for next time! Please review and thanks for reading!

PS Don't forget to vote for Fergus' romantic interest! If you are an anonymous reader, vote in a review! Otherwise, vote in a poll. Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

Warnings: Prince Cailan/Hadrian pairing, lots of kissing and flirtations up ahead.

Many thanks to all old and new readers; additionally, I like to personally thank those who left the reviews.

To new reviewers:

**a** – I will update more frequently, whenever time permits. Perhaps a weekly update would encourage some readers to review more often?

**Slashguy** – I romanced Alistair, but only as a female human noble; I tried to do it with my first character, a male city elf, but couldn't. Instead, I went for Zevran! There are two communities with some Alistair/M!Cousland: by the sword (or something like that) and royal bastard. I managed to find a couple of good stories with those two being romantically involved, _Grounding _and _Nole, Nolle, and Nolui_ being my favourites.

Chapter 9: The King's Visit

_1 year later, the King's Visit_

It had been a while since the King made his last visit to the Couslands. Ever since he had successfully thwarted the Orlesians out of Ferelden, he was busy dealing with the aftermath. His allies, once friendly with each other as they united under one banner were now bickering amongst each other. Each noble house wanted to have the biggest prize, the largest landholding to fit their egos. Only a few remain ever vigilant of their pride and the Couslands were one of them.

Bryce had been with the King since before he reclaimed the usurped throne of Ferelden. He and Maric were very close friends; some matters that Maric had not told even Loghain about were conveyed to Bryce in a quiet, confident manner. Bryce had no desire in getting between Maric and Loghain with their friendship, but even he had to agree that Loghain's paranoia was uncalled for in a time of peace. The Emperor of Orlais had ceded for a neutral concession, not wanting to risk losing his most prized military sector, the Chevaliers to a bunch of dogs as he had said at that Treaty of Orlais. Thankfully, his daughter, now Empress Celene I, was more open-minded and willing to talk things over with the King of Ferelden. Her willingness was not heeded though by Loghain and the King's personal advisor had suggested the King in keeping a tight rein on the borders of Orlais and Ferelden. Although King Maric did keep a close eye on the Orlesians, he had doubts on whether it was a good idea to further antagonize their strained truce. In fact, the Orlaisens weren't the only culprits in his mother's deaths and Bryce was a personal participant in watching Maric dispatch his foes so cunningly at a false peace conference with the Ferelden nobles. However, Loghain, ever the persistent dog that he was to his Master, hounded after Maric, nipping his heels to direct the course of history itself.

When he received a letter, written by King Maric himself, his heart sank when the King said he would drop by to visit them for a week. Loghain would probably be with him as well and Bryce was not in the mood to deal with Loghain's unwarranted suspicions. He told his family and everyone responsible for the upkeep of his Castle of the King's visit at a meeting in the Antechamber. He made it clear to all the servants and the guards that nothing was to be out of place. Every room had to be kept clean, most especially the King's Suite, reserved only for the King, and the Prince's Chamber. With only a few days to prepare for the King's arrival, everybody was busy cleaning and tidying up the Castle.

The last bit of cleaning, which was the stables outside of the Castle, was just completed when a horn blared in the distance and the guards at the gate responded likewise, lowering the gate that guarded the Cousland Castle. The King and his son, Prince Cailan, rode past through the gate, closely guarded on all sides by their personal bodyguards. Waiting for them at the entrance to the antechamber was the Cousland family, its members dressed in the family colours of blue and silver, with the head of a wolf etched on the men's tunics.

King Maric sharply reined in his horse and his black stallion stopped in its tracks, its head shaking back and forth to show its dislike at being reined in so harshly. It quieted when Maric petted him gently to soothe his horse and he dismounted from his horse with a grace of a warrior.

Hadrian couldn't help but stare at the large man dismounting. _This is the King? He's tall!_ The young Cousland watched the King of Ferelden take long strides to Bryce. The two men in charge of their families shook hands and then patted each other on the backs. Standing next to him was Prince Cailan, a young man in his late teens.

"Ho there, Bryce. Eleanor, it's always a pleasure to see you, " The King kissed her twice, one kiss on each cheek.

"And to you, your Majesty" Eleanor curtsied lowly.

"Come, let us go inside and converse where the air is chill and not so crowded." Bryce suggested and he gestured for the royal duo to follow him into the room. The troupe gathered around the fireplace and goblets of the best wine the Couslands had were served out, even to the young boys. Fergus and Hadrian were busy talking with the Prince Cailan while the adults commenced in having a serious conversation.

"So how is everything back in Denerim?" Eleanor said and she sipped her drink. The King nodded numbly and he absently fingered the gold goblet in his hand.

"Prince Cailan is still taking his mother's death rather hard; however, he's coming along quite well in matters of court, even though he can be a dreamy sort of boy."

"Cailan is a strong lad," Bryce interjected with confidence and his optimism lightened the King's mournful mood. Maric set his drink down on the oak table that was placed next to his chair.

"Yes, he is. Well, Bryce, how are your boys in their weapons training? I've heard good news on their battle prowess."

"You do us too much flattery, your highness,"

"Please, Bryce, we've known each other for years and I've already asked you to stop calling me that. This is a talk between close friends, not king and subject."

"Ah, old habits die hard, your maj-Maric,"

There was a light chuckle and Maric nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, old habits do die hard. It's why I left Loghain at the Castle."

"I have wondered why he wasn't accompanying you," Eleanor remarked on the absence of her friend's advisor. She never liked Loghain but propriety dictates her to act respectfully towards him. She brushed some dust off her skirts before taking a sip of the wine again.

"Would you like to see them, Maric?" Bryce asked of his King, already rising out of his chair and placing the bottle of Antivan wine back into the storage unit, where the other expensive wines were.

"Yes, perhaps Cailan and Fergus will give us a good show? No, how about this young lad?"

The King of Ferelden's gaze reverted back to the young boy who was quietly listening to the conversation between his older brother and Prince Cailan. He was quite shocked to see the boy with gray hair already and Bryce must have caught it for he merely smiled at his King.

"My great grandfather had silver hair when he was younger, as did Fergus. Hopefully, it will darken with age."

"So he's not aging as rapidly as I assumed then?" Only elves had coloured hair, colours that ranged from azule to a charcoal grey. The colours a human could have are the basic three: blonde, black, and brown. The hair would grey with age. His own mother had red-hair but she was an extraordinary woman, of great power and will. He heard from a Chasind Priest that the Gods marked those destined for great things with the colour of blood in their hair or the colour of the moon. He wondered if this would be true of the boy. He was brought out of his musings by another question and found himself nodding, even though he didn't hear the question. Apparently, it was to see if he wanted them to start sparring immediately for the Cousland boys bowed to their sovereign before departing, with Prince Cailan in tow.

"We will go to the training grounds, near the stables. Right this way, your majesty."

Maric sighed again, this time not even bothering to correct his old friend. He merely followed them, glad that for once he didn't have to lead. The trio walked on the causeways that curved around the large estate of the Cousland Castle and ended up near the stables, on the southeast side. The smell of hay, sweat, and oil drifted but the King didn't mind. He was long used to the smells of the stables, even the pungent stench of manure didn't cause him to wrinkle his nose.

There were a few rows of stables, each holding a horse for the soldiers loyal to the Couslands. The Howe family had their own personal stable but Arl Howe and his family couldn't make it to today's occasion due to a prior engagement in the Free Marches. The training grounds were located just further south of the stables and Maric could see that they were well used, the grass stomped on and clumps of dirt dotted the ground.

The boys were found readying their weapons, already fitted in armor. His son, Prince Cailan, stood to the left side, clad in his old silver armor, one that he wore until he turned 20 summers. Standing opposite of his son was the Cousland's youngest heir and Maric was quite pleased to see that young boy was growing into a man decently, even for one with sixteen summers under his belt. Hadrian's armour, although not as nice as Cailan's, still boasted of excellent quality and make. He was very surprised to see Hadrian equipped in heavy chainmail and he turned to Bryce for an explanation.

"Hadrian favours heavy armour," Bryce simply explained, "but don't be deceived by his slowness."

"Very few men can move quickly in heavy armour, Bryce," Maric pointed out his concern, slightly worried that Hadrian would embarrass himself in front of his liege and so soon. His friend gave a light chuckle and there was a wolfish grin on his face.

"Wait and see, old friend," was all Bryce said before the show started.

Maric's worry about his friend's son embarrassing himself soon became unwarranted but he wasn't worried about his son losing. Cailan had won numerous tournaments, thanks to intense training sessions by his father himself and another Quartermaster, Stefanus.

His son had the height and experience over Hadrian. Being three years older than his opponent, it was slightly unfair of him to be fighting someone as inexperienced as Hadrian. Perhaps Fergus would have given a better show.

His brother was good; no, he was very good, considering how long he's holding out against Cailan's merciless parries and thrusts.

There were a few times that Cailan had knocked his opponent to the ground with his shield but Hadrian managed to roll away from potential finishing blows and he would distract the Prince with an odd movement before standing back up again. The two boys went at it for four full rounds, each lasting three minutes each. Both were tired, Cailan having won the first and third round, with Hadrian winning the others. Maric watched the fourth session end with Hadrian slamming Cailan with his own shield, which was dropped earlier. The blonde Prince found himself lying on the ground, the business end of a sword pointing above his throat. The King hoped that Cailan would have the grace to yield and he was pleased to see Hadrian offer a hand to his son. Hadrian was brought up quite well in the Cousland household. Like his brother, he had good sportsmanship and did not think it to be beneath him to offer a helping hand to a downed partner.

He clapped his hands quite enthusiastically, showing the others around of his approval of the sparring sessions.

"Wonderful. Bryce, you were not joking about your son's skills. He must attend the upcoming tournament. Yes, absolutely."

The Summermere Tournament occurred on the evening of the 7th day of the season, with the weather being slightly warm but not overbearing in heat. The grounds would have time to dry and harden into packed dirt, safe for both humans and horses. Initiated by King Calenhad himself, the Tournament was an alternative to war; Almarri tribes didn't have to wage war on each other just to show off their might. They could do so safely in an event where bloodletting was controlled and where all tribes were treated with respect under the same rules. The upcoming tournament was to be in its 100th year and King Maric made special arrangements for it. Unfortunately, due to the violence of the Tournament, an age restriction was placed on it and Hadrian would still be too young to participate, as Bryce pointed out.

"Hadrian only just reached his 16th summers. The minimum age of a participant is 18 springs."

"Posh, Bryce. There have always been exceptions, especially when they have talents." Maric waved off his friend's concern and the King walked towards the youths. He laid a large hand on Hadrian's shoulder and bestowed a paternal grin.

"You've done well, Hadrian. As proven to me through this display, I invite you to participate in the Summermere Tournament,"

The youth's eyes grew bigger at being given such praise by his sovereign but he composed himself enough to bow his head. Maric smiled at the youth's manners and he regarded his son Prince Cailan, who had an odd twinkle in his eyes.

"Cailan. It looks like you will have a fierce competition this time," Maric said to his son, smiling wistfully at the blonde Prince.

"Yes, father. May I have a go with him again?"

"Hmm? Oh I see. We've had four rounds and you are tied. You never liked ties," Maric observed and he stepped back to where he originally stood with the others.

"Do what you like boys," Maric said over his shoulder, heading back to the castle with the other men following directly behind him. "Be sure to bathe and meet us in the dining room afterward."

Maric trusted his son enough not to hurt Bryce's lad and he had a feeling that perhaps with him watching, Cailan unconsciously fumbled out of anxiety and nervousness. The tall King then recalled that odd twinkle in Cailan's eyes and he had a feeling that his son wanted some _alone_ time with Bryce's son. He didn't survive the Orlesian occupation and also throwing them out of Ferelden just using brute strength. To outwit those Orlesian bastards, one had to be equally intelligent if not more so. Lucky for Ferelden, Maric was a very smart man and a very observant one at that. Nothing escaped him, not even Loghain's aspirations to tie himself closer to the throne. Yes, he knew what went on inside his best friend's head but he hoped it was out of love for him and for Ferelden that Loghain's ambition came into being. Thus, he acknowledged Cailan's trysts with other nobles. Did he approve of it though? No, not really. Ferelden needed heirs to the Theirin throne. He told Cailan to keep things under wraps and he had full confidence that his boy was just going through a phase, like any other noblemen. He himself had fancied a hard body, especially when there was no woman to be found in the dark caves of the Deep Roads. However, he passed through that phase as soon as he saw Rowan. He just hoped that Cailan didn't overstep himself in his old friend's household.

Prince Cailan watched the crowd leave before facing his opponent.

"Fifth round. May the best man win," Cailan said to his partner, who wordlessly picked up his weapon and shield. _Not very talkative in battle, is he?_ Cailan thought when his body crouched low in an offensive stance. Seeing his partner position himself in an equally offensive stance as well, Cailan charged at him, using an entirely different tactic than before. Hadrian was surprised by this and the blonde Prince took advantage of it by pressing in his attacks. Prince Cailan brought up his shield to halt a sword thrust and parried Hadrian's longsword. He quickly smashed the shield in Hadrian's face, causing his sparring partner to stumble backwards in a daze. With his opponent's balance lost, the prince went into a low stance and kicked the boy's feet out from underneath. Hadrian landed with a loud thud and the breath was knocked out of him. Stars temporarily swam in front of him and when they cleared, he saw a sword pointed at him, its tip dangerously close to his throat. Cailan's brown eyes were sharp and seemingly merciless. For a moment, Hadrian thought this young Prince was going to kill him for besting him in the preceding rounds. His worry was unfounded though when Cailan gave him a warm smile and offered a hand instead. He was helped to his feet and was brought a little too close to Cailan, his breath coming out in soft whispers next to his cheek. Hadrian's eyes widened in shock and darted to the side, trying to see if anyone else was watching. He knew that the King had already left the training grounds, walking and conversing with his parents. However, the _entire_ training grounds were left empty and bereft of humans. Only the sounds of horses nickering and naying to each other could be heard.

"I had heard stories of your prowess," Cailan whispered softly in his ear. " And of your preferences. But somehow there are none to be found about your other less known skills." A hand gently groped the poor teenager and he let out an unmanly squeak before pushing Cailan away with his hands.

"Your highness is too kind to say so," Hadrian managed to say without stammering but he could feel his face reddening and his ears felt too warm for his liking. "Pardon me, but I-I must take my leave now."

"Well now, it seems as if I struck gold," the Prince murmured and he watched the slowly disappearing back of his sparring partner. Nobody had ever refused his initial advances and this person had. He was quite intrigued by the young Cousland and vowed that the Cousland would be his, one way or another.

-o0o-

Prince Cailan thought that he was going to be hard-pressed in convincing Cousland to bed with him. He never thought it would be this difficult.

By the Maker, he loved being challenged but not like this and there was an urge to just take what he wanted. However, there were two things that stopped him. One, he may be Prince of Ferelden but he was still a visitor at someone else's home and slaking his thirst would be an act of defiance and disrespect to the owner's hospitality. If anything was constituted as rape with the Cousland's youngest, his father would not only beat him with a paddle made out of whitewood (which really hurts), but his reputation would be absolutely ruinous. The last thing the blonde needs is someone to view him not only as an arrogant prince, but a dishonourable one that just takes what he wants. Secondly, as equally strong as his urge to just take the Cousland was a desire to see that smile on the face, to look at the eyes that would sparkle out of laughter and joy. He often sees Hadrian laugh and cajole with his friends. Sometimes, the young teenager would see him in turn, but would quickly avert his gaze, as if he didn't want Cailan to notice his blush. Cailan did and that spurred his efforts even more. His partner was interested in him but he was hesitant and the next day Cailan knew why.

He was sparring with a couple of junior squires of Highever, the future Knights of the Cousland when a young man came by to talk with a redhead. The redhead very politely asked Cailan if they could take stop and the blonde Prince acquiesced to his request. The two lads chattered amongst themselves quite profusely, all the way from the sparring grounds to the showers. He was just about to put on his tunic and pants when he overheard a very interesting conversation. He looked over to the benches and saw the two boys conversing with one another. The redhead was toweling his hair, saying,

"Did you know that the Prince is regarding Hadrian very closely as of late?"

"Yes. I've heard tales of his regales with the other lot of nobles. Hear tell that he's quite good with his hands and that's not just from swordplay."

The redhead winked at his partner, who blushed at the insinuation. The other boy began to dress.

"Well, he better watch out because his brother's very protective with Hadrian, especially after what happened with him and that Howe's kid, Nathan."

"It's not as if he can't take care of himself though."

"Yeah, were you able to see that match between him and the Prince? Just amazing!"

"Well, he's not called the _Wolf_ of Highever for nothing, Lloyd," the redhead guffawed out, already having put on his riding pants and top.

_So, he was involved with that Nathan character? Another secret of Rendown Howe._ Prince Cailan mused as he silently watched the pair take up their dirty clothes in their hands and stroll out of the showers. Prince Cailan's mind worked overtime, trying to formulate a plan that would encourage Hadrian to be with him. Perhaps he should slow down in his advances and just wait it out.

-o0o-

It appears that good things do happen to he who waits as Cailan found out over the week of observation and interaction. His father had left for the Dragon's Peak Bannorn to oversee a dispute between the vassals of the Bann. He promised to return and finish visiting with Bryce. The two men were childhood friends after all and seeing Bryce for only two days wasn't long enough for the King apparently. Prince Cailan was left behind at the Cousland Castle and the blonde, who would usually protest at being stuck in another noble's house, was surprisingly overjoyed. This did not escape his father's notice, however, and King Maric made a mental note of this. He would talk about this after dealing with the vassals.

To Cailan's good luck, it was Hadrian's birthday and he had already planned something special for him. He invited Hadrian to go walk with him in the woods and he expected for a refusal. When Hadrian agreed to it, Cailan's heart burst with excitement but he kept himself composed. His excitement could be misconstrued as an eagerness to take Hadrian somewhere private and do the nasty, which for some reason, the blonde Prince did not want Hadrian to consider that. Explaining his action to his brother, Fergus, was another story. They were just about to head out when a male voice called out to them. Both recognized the timbers of the voice and Cailan inwardly cursed at the sight of Hadrian's brother running towards them, a suspicious look in his eyes.

"Hadrian, I thought you were going to get ready for the party Mother setup for you."

Much to Cailan's credit, Hadrian sighed heavily and fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fergus, the party is not until the fourth hour for the Moon. It's only three hours past midday."

"You are clearly going somewhere with his highness though."

_Damn, I forgot how intelligent Fergus is._ Cailan cursed to himself but he still kept a smile on his face.

"I am. We'll be going to the woods. Don't worry, I won't take him near the Clearing."

_Clearing? What is he talking about?_ Cailan got lost in the conversation between the two brothers. Fergus apparently noticed his confusion for the older brother suddenly embraced the younger one and was whispering something in a low voice, too low that Cailan couldn't hear what he could be saying. The older teenager let go of Hadrian and pinned the Prince with a cold and knowing glare.

"Be safe out there, you two. Both fathers would be furious with me if you two got lost in the woods. That's if I'm still alive from mother's ranting."

Without further ado, Fergus bowed to the Prince and headed towards back to the castle. Several guards looked on at the strange scene but as soon as Prince Cailan laid accusing eyes on them, they had a sudden urge to continue their duties. There was a soft giggle and Cailan was shocked to find that it was the boy beside him who made that girly sound.

"And what is so funny, Hadrian?" Cailan asked of his partner, already walking ahead of him and not wanting to see the cute flustered face.

"Ah nothing. It's just so funny that every time I'm alone with someone, Fergus would stop and interrogate the poor guy."

_But I thought you were a virgin_…_could he have been with someone so soon after that conversation?_ A feeling of jealousy rose up and Cailan's heart raced at the thought of someone else touching his intended. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Hadrian stopping beside him and taking his hand in his own.

"Don't go that way," Hadrian whispered softly to him, "that way is the Clearing."

"Hmm?"

Cailan saw that there was indeed a nice pond up ahead of them, surrounded by large oak trees. There were no animals there, none of the usual lot that would come to the pond for some sustenance. No birds chirped around them and the Prince grew concerned at the lack of life in the area. Hadrian apparently wasn't as indicated by him heading to the left path that wound its way away from the Clearing and heading more in a westerly direction, more towards the castle actually. Usually Cailan would be curious in strange places, wanting to discover if the lore around them would be truthful and not fantasy. The odd silence that hung over the Clearing gave off an ominous feeling and he much rather be with Hadrian than by himself in a strange part of the Breckland Woods. The two lads stopped talking but Hadrian was walking closer to Cailan than before. It felt like they had walked for the whole day when they finally stopped in another area, with a huge oak tree rising far above them. Its many branches provided them shelter should the Maker decide for the rains to come through and bless the world.

"Hadrian, what was that?" The Prince asked his partner, his eyes still taking in the majestic form of the tree that stood before him. The tree had a trunk that was wider than three men lying next to each other, from head to toe. Hadrian came by to stand next to the Prince, also looking up at the tree, although with reverence.

"You don't know, your highness?"

If it were anyone else, Cailan would have taken this as an insult to his learning. However, it was Hadrian and he didn't want to scare away the poor boy with his arrogance. Instead, he merely nodded to answer the question.

"I thought everyone knew of the tale. Even the squires in training know of this legend."

"Please, don't rub it in," Cailan said in an exasperated tone. He was a well-learned boy, as expected of the heir to the throne. In fact, his father complained that he spent too much time with his nose in the book instead of training every hour of the day, both in battle and in court. He read of many tales and folklore that surrounded Thedas but he never heard of this Clearing on the Cousland lands.

"A long time ago, my ancestor had saved a wolf here. It was a Blue Wolf, in fact, and in return the Blue Wolf bestowed a boon to him and to his descendants. My ancestor honoured that boon but several years later, he was betrayed by a jealous lover and was killed right there, in that Clearing. There didn't use to be a pond there,"

Hadrian told the Prince and he shivered, causing the Prince to embrace him tightly and try to warm him up. The teenager gave him a warm smile and he continued:

"His death was greatly mourned by everyone, but more so by the Blue Wolf he had saved. It was told that the pond was created out of my ancestor's blood and no one could tread there. Anyone who did was never heard from again. To avoid any more accidents, my Father literally warned everyone, from us to the peasants living off the land that the Clearing was off limits, on pain of death. "

"By the Maker, I've never heard of this before. You would think that a list of missing persons would raise questions and start wild rumours."

"Well, there were a few rumours that got out but somehow something bad always happens to those who gossip about the Clearing."

"Wait, we're talking about it,"

Cailan wasn't afraid of anything but who could fight a ghost?

"Don't worry. Nothing happened to the Couslands for some reason. It's as if we're spared for some reasons."

A gentle smile from Hadrian reassured him and he relaxed a little more. He sat at the bottom of the trunk, pulling Hadrian with him. Again, Hadrian did not try to shy away from him and Cailan was glad for this. He was starting to tire of the boy's nervousness but anything was worth him being attentive by Hadrian.

He was just about to relax when something poked him in the ribs and the Prince remembered that there was a purpose in him being alone with Hadrian. His hand reached around his waist and pulled out a yellow flower, with purple markings in the centre.

"Umm...I got something for you, for your birthday."

He offered the flower to Hadrian who took it in trembling hands. The boy didn't say anything except stare at the flower with wide eyes. The Prince started to panic when Hadrian still didn't say anything, not even a 'I'm not a flower type of guy.' He intrinsically gave up on this whole seduction plan and was about to get up when a hand stopped him.

He looked back and saw Hadrian giving him that _smile_, the one reserved for him especially. _Maker's breath, maybe I'm the one being seduced here!_

"Do you know what flower this is?"

The question was asked in a very soft tone and Cailan wondered if he offended the poor lad.

"This is _Lupus Solaris_, the Sun of the Wolf."

"Oh, I...I didn't know that..." _Moron! You should have researched on that before giving it to him!_

Cailan mentally kicked himself for not doing that. Now, Hadrian's going to think he's a moronic idiot Prince.

"Don't worry about it. It is a very rare flower, very rare. In fact, I'm surprised you were able to find it in the first place. Where _did_ you find it by the way?"

Hadrian usually didn't talk very much, except when surrounded by close friends and family. The fact that he uttered more than a sentence shocked the Prince. Perhaps there was a good thing going for him.

"I actually found it by that pond you mentioned. I had no idea it was the Clearing until you told me just now."

"Wait, you've been to the pond itself? Did you see anything?"

"Whoa, whoa! One question at a time!"

Cailan's hands were in front of him in a gesture to slow the Cousland down. The barrage of questions stopped and there was a soft laugh.

"No, I didn't see anything; I wish I did." The Prince shivered, recalling the coldness, the lack of life in that area. He really had wished he saw something, anything that indicated life still lingered there.

Hadrian seemed pensive and the Prince wondered that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Something inexpressible crossed his features briefly before the boy straightened up from his leaning posture against the tree and he stepped closer to the Prince, easily closing into his personal space than was proper.

"I'm...I'm not quite sure...if this is right..." The boy bit his bottom lip and his eyes turned downwards, too shy to face the fair blonde. The last time he felt this way, he lost his lover and he didn't want to lose anyone else. The Prince standing right in front of him was perhaps not the right choice of a lover but every time he gazed into those mossy green eyes, he felt his will weakening and his body yearned for his touch. Where did this feeling come from? It had been almost two years since he last saw Nathan and just as long since he had any physical relationships. It's not as if he hadn't had any offers from visiting nobles or even some of his father's personal bodyguards, discrete as they were. He didn't feel the need to just whore himself out to every warm body that wanted him. He wanted something out of a relationship, something more than just a quickie.

"Hadrian?" The Cousland youngest startled, almost flinching when a gentle hand cupped his cheek. He looked up and found his thoughts flying out of the window when those same green eyes stared back at him, their smoldering depths almost causing him to tremble. He closed his eyes and leaned into the caress, eliciting a soft gasp from the Prince. Before he could do anything else, he felt something soft press against his lips. His eyes flew open only to shutter close as strong arms embraced his body and brought them closer to another warm body. The kiss deepened and a wet tongue teased his lips, silently begging for entrance. When Hadrian's lips parted, the tongue skillfully slithered inside and Hadrian couldn't help but moan as Cailan explored the hidden caverns that he had been yearning to explore ever since he first laid eyes on the youngest Cousland.

Cailan began to push his lover against the tree and before Hadrian could protest at the rough handling, a pair of hands began to undress him. Cailan's mouth moved from his lips and traveled downwards, nipping and sucking the divine skin that was displayed to him. Moans drifted to Cailan's ears and he smiled when Hadrian gasped as he bit gently into a pert nipple. Another soft moan was elicited out of the boy when the hurt was smoothed over by a firm tongue. _So responsive! I wonder if he's still a virgin, if maybe Nathan had already taken him..._

With that thought in mind, he stopped his ministrations and was amused to hear a quiet whine when he did. He stood up from his kneeling position and kissed Hadrian again, passionately, the thought of someone having already taken him causing him to become more rough with the kiss, more demanding.

"C-Cailan! W-w-wait! Mffphh!"

Cailan had always been a considerate lover and Hadrian would not be the first one to break that record. He pulled back and once again, became fully aroused at the flustered face.

"Tell me, Hadrian. Has anyone taken you yet?" The question brought a deeper rouge to the boy's cheeks and Hadrian turned his head away, too embarrassed to answer his question. The action alone told the Prince his answer and he laughed quietly to himself, causing Hadrian to bestow him an angry scowl.

"This-this is no laughing matter!" Hadrian stuttered angrily.

He didn't want the Prince to think him weak. He was the best in the sword and shield department, and forerunner to being the best in the two-handed sector. He was strong in his social skills and his diplomacy tactics was almost unmatched. However, when faced with this devastatingly handsome _Prince_ of Ferelden, it seemed as if his mind just dumbed itself and he couldn't think of anything smart to say.

"No, this isn't a laughing matter," Cailan said huskily, his eyes holding those of his counterpart's in a steadfast but heated gaze. "I've never taken a virgin before and I don't want to hurt you."

Hadrian's eyes became as wide as saucers at the implication in Cailan's voice and he shuddered. _Taken? That's painful! Nathan did the first part, with his fingers, but we never got around to the last part._

_ "_It's getting late though," Cailan stepped back, allowing Hadrian to breathe. He offered a hand to his partner and there was a genuine smile etched on that handsome face. "Your mother will be waiting for us and that should give you plenty of time to think about this."

Hadrian placed his slightly smaller hand in Cailan's and the pair made way back to the castle, fully aware that they were standing much closer to each other and they didn't mind each other.

-TBC-

A/N: I was going to add a lemon scene but wasn't sure how many people would like to see that happening between Prince Cailan and Hadrian. Besides, this chapter is quite long, as promised. However, if anyone wants a hot scene between those two, review and say yes, please! Otherwise, the next chapter will just skip over that part and continue on with the story.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Intermission

_Several days later_

Fergus slammed Cailan roughly against the wall of the guest room, uncaring of the fact that his action could cost him his life or at the very best, his title and honour.

"You hurt my brother, you will answer to me. Hadrian is not some lovestruck teenager ready for the taking by a prince like you." The older brother growled, bunching the front of Cailan's tunic in his fist.

"I assure you, he has consented to this-"

A hand lashed out but it hit the wall next to Cailan. Even in a fit of rage, Fergus was not stupid enough to physically assault the next King of Ferelden.

"I know about your ways, your highness, and how you 'persuade' your conquests into bed. My brother maybe a most coveted virgin in this Castle, even the guards can't help but look at him with their greedy eyes, but he will most certainly be not another notch to your bedpost!"

"What is going on here?"

The strange voice called out in a harsh tone and both boys suddenly separated, looking rather sheepish at being caught. It was one of the Prince's personal bodyguard, a tall man with dark hair and icy blue eyes.

"Your highness, is he bothering you?"

Cailan wanted to say 'yes,' but the look on Fergus' eyes troubled him and he shook his head. The bodyguard seemed to want to say something but he remained silent and went back outside, this time turning his back to them instead of waiting by the door.

"Fergus Cousland, I promise that he is not a mere conquest." Cailan whispered to Fergus, who glared at him in disbelief. The Cousland heir just gave him a cold stare and he bowed stiffly to the prince before leaving the room in a composed way. _By the maker! I should have known Fergus would look after his brother in this way! _He slumped down the wall and hugged his knees tightly, ruminating over what had just transpired.

The next day, the two families ate in awkward silence, particularly the three sons. Bryce's eyebrow went up as he watched the three boys eat very quietly, chewing their food and drinking the boiled water the servants had given them. He wanted them to behave but somehow there was something more to this odd silence that pervaded the Dining Hall. A loud clatter interrupted the stillness and he saw Hadrian reach out for his spilled goblet. The Prince beat him to it first and Bryce noticed that Cailan's hand lingered a little too long on Hadrian's small one. Suddenly, it all clicked together in Bryce's mind and he leaned towards the King, who was munching on a piece of venison steak.

"Maric, can I have a word with you?"

The King gave a nod and both men excused themselves from the table, fully aware of questioning looks and stares. At Eleanor's sharp command, the boys and the guards returned to their dinner.

King Maric and Bryce went to a small enclosure, with Maric's escort waiting outside. By the look of consternation on his old friend's face, he could tell that something was bothering him. He let the Cousland Head speak first and listened attentively to Bryce's concerns on his son's interaction with Hadrian.

"Your majesty, Maric, are you aware of your son's actions?"

"Actions? Speak plainly, Bryce."

"Two years ago, my son came to me to talk about a certain _problem_ that he has. He told me that as much as a man he is, his preferences are, let's say, different."

The King's eyes grew bigger at Bryce's implication in his son's sexuality. He already knew that Cailan looked to men for company but he hoped again that it was just a phase. However, with the way his old friend was describing Cailan's behaviour towards Hadrian, it seemed as if Cailan was really courting him, the way a proper gentleman would court a lady. Maric deduced that Cailan could possibly be in love with the young noble. He had a feeling that Cailan was acting rather strangely, especially after Rowan's death. However, he dismissed it as a child looking for some comfort with his male friends. However, his son should know better than to dally with the other nobles, men much less so. The consequences could be dire for the line of Theirin if the other nobles knew of this information.

"So, Cailan has taken upon himself to 'court' Hadrian, then? It is possible that Hadrian is just a one-time person with Cailan."

Bryce was not convinced though and he knew that Maric was not entirely convinced himself either. Both had noticed the two boys being together more often than not and whenever someone mentions the name of Hadrian, Cailan would have a strange expression on his young face. Maric compared that look to someone who was in love with that person as he would see it all the time on Rowan's face. Dearest Rowan. His heart ached at the image of his lovely Guerrin wife and he so much wished that she were still alive. Bryce took the King's silence as a cue to continue voicing his concerns.

"While I am not entirely happy with the fact that my youngest son is fey, he truly does appear to be happier in the company of his male friends than the ladies-in-waiting. As head of the Cousland Family, it is my duty to have heirs and Fergus has secured our line with his marriage to Oriana. However, as a Father, it is my also duty to ensure my sons' happiness. They are all I have left, my wife not excluded, of course."

"I see, Bryce. Very well, I will talk to Cailan about this. Whatever this is, it must end here. The heir to the throne must have children and it is impossible to do that if he is involved with another man."

"Thank you, your highness."

-o0o-

_7__th__ hour to the Moon_

Prince Cailan was furious with his father but even a son had to bow to the wishes of his King. However, for him, the hard part would be to break it off with his partner and he knew that Fergus would prefer to run him through with a rapier than let him anywhere near the young man. It was the last day of their visit, which made the situation even worse. Why was it so difficult to do this? He never encountered any of this awkwardness, this guilt in breaking it off. Of course, his other bedding companions plainly understood that it was a one-time fling. Hadrian should have understood this but somehow he crept into Cailan's heart in such a subtle way that there was only thing to call it. Cailan loved him. Yes, that was it. And now he had to break his heart.

The Prince of Ferelden, so lost in thought, didn't even recognize where he was at until a door appeared to him. Somehow, by instinct, his feet took him to Hadrian's quarters and his heart thumped rapidly in his chest. _Should I just leave without saying anything? No, there must be closure and I will honour both my and my father's wishes._

The Prince's hand rapped smartly on the heavy wooden door and Cailan heard sounds of movement from within. Before he had cold feet, the door opened and Cailan's heart dropped even more at the sight of a happy face. The green-blue eyes sparkled at him and there was a kind smile, making the teenager look even younger.

"Prince Cailan! I was just about to come by and see you,"

True to his words, Hadrian had made his bed and was clad in a light uniform of his family's colours, with the wolf's head embroidered on his right shoulder.

"May I come in? I wish to talk,"

The voice sounded harsher than Cailan had intended and he could see confusion cloud his companion's face.

"Uh, yeah, sure,"

Hadrian stepped back to allow Cailan in and the door shut with a quiet click. When he turned around, Cailan was looking at the picture that hung over his bed with an absent-minded expression. The young Cousland knew that something was up for the Prince would usually bestow all of his attention on him.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. It's…we can't see each other anymore," Cailan blurted out in a rushed way, the words running together. _Compose yourself. Just pretend he's one of your admirers and only want a one-time fling._ _But he's not, is he?_ Another voice replied in his head, making him feel even guiltier at what he's doing.

"Can't see each other? You mean, oh, I see," Hadrian stumbled, disheartened by Cailan's request. He had recalled the rather loud discussion Cailan had with his father and when he accidentally ran into the King on his way to see Cailan, the King gave him a very disapproving look. Hadrian had the sudden urge to relieve himself, walking in the opposite direction of where the King was heading out. He should have known that nothing lasts with the heir to the throne but he was easily taken by the Prince's advances and he was comfortable spending time with the Prince, almost more comfortable than spending time with his own brother, in fact.

"I'm sorry," Cailan's head bowed in sincere apology and before saying anything else, he gave the young Cousland a soft kiss on the cheek. "If you want to know, I felt something for you. Truly, I did."

Not wanting to prolong this, Cailan, for once, bowed to Hadrian before leaving, quite aware of a saddened Hadrian staring mournfully at him. _This is for the best, like what Father said…_ The door shut behind the exiting Prince and Hadrian's eyes welled in tears.

Fergus was on his way to Oriana, his girlfriend and hopefully betrothed one day, when he caught sight of Prince Cailan walking rather briskly to his chambers. Usually, the Prince's gait would be steady and unhurried. However, he walked as if a demon was after him and the elder Cousland was sorely tempted to accost him and see if he was ok. However, he noticed that Cailan had started from the hall to the left and red flags erected in his mind when he realized that he had just come from Hadrian's suite, which took up much of that hallway. Muttering under his breath about selfish Princes and politics, Fergus picked up his pace and, hating that he was right about this whole affair between the two nobles, heard someone crying on the other side of the door that led to Hadrian's room. Out of respect, he knocked once, twice, and when no one answered, he calmly opened the door, which was, to his surprise, locked. The soft cries stopped and there was a disheartening silence, as if Hadrian didn't want anyone to hear him.

"Hadrian, it's me Fergus. Please, brother, open this door."

Some shuffling could be heard and a loud click indicated that the deadbolt was pulled back. The door opened and Hadrian's face peered at him. His eyes were swollen from crying and Fergus' heart went out to his little brother.

"Can I come in, please?"

"Last time I let somebody in, I got my heart broken," Hadrian replied, trying to sound manly but the sniffle that followed his reply caused it to fail. He rubbed his sleeve across his nose, trying to cover up his runny nose.

"I am _not_ that somebody, Hadrian."

Hadrian knew that barring his older brother from entry was a mute cause; Fergus cared for him and, although he could be overbearing in his protection of Hadrian from the outside world, scared away any potential suitors, male and female, who might harm his younger brother. Hadrian was not small in size or stature, but his kind-heartness was easily taken advantage of by an ambitious lot of nobles. The young Cousland stepped away, letting his older brother in.

Several moments later, Fergus was fuming. Not at Hadrian, but at the Prince who callously involved Hadrian in an ill-fated affair and discarded him like any other peasant. If Cailan had been born as a noble like them, Fergus would then have no qualms in hunting him down and beating him to a pulp. Such as it were, he couldn't physically assault the Prince without facing severe punishment. So, the only thing he could do was comfort his younger sibling.

He embraced Hadrian and rubbed his back in soothing circles to ease the boy's pain. Once the sniffling stopped, he drew back and there was a mask of indifference on his face. _So, he is learning to steel himself from the others._

"I'm fine now, Fergus. Thanks,"

"Brother, I promise you that there is somebody out there for you, someone willing to bear your burdens along with you and to share in your happiness."

"I know. It's just…it still kinda hurts, so I need some time…" _To recover from this ridiculous affair_.

"Very well. I will be with Oriana if you need me."

His brother nodded in acknowledgment and Fergus excused himself. He threw one last glance over his shoulder, to double-check that Hadrian truly was ok. Satisfied with what he found, he left the suite and headed towards Oriana, who was waiting patiently for him in her guest quarters.

-TBC-

A/N: Yay, this was actually quite hard to finish. We shall see Alistair and the Wardens in the next chappie at the upcoming Summermere Tournament. Are they destined to meet with Hadrian? Stay tuned!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Only one more chapter left for this arc! Yay!

Warning: Smut at the end. Mystery pairing involved (still slash, so if this offends you, you probably shouldn't be reading this in the first place. :D)

**Chapter 11: A Crown of Swords**

Dawn broke out over the settlement, peeking over the various tents that had been setup the day before. Its light awakened the camp's inhabitants but there were some who were up before the sun's appearance. Horses nickered to each other in their stables and the more impatient ones pawed the ground with the front hoof, hoping that it would get their masters' attentions. It had worked, as always, for a couple of stableboys, junior squires to the more advanced knights and their subsequent assistants, came by with pails of fresh oat. One boy in particular snuck in a small bag of special treats for a young Brecilian horse, a rare breed nowadays. He palmed the treats in his hand and giggled when furry lips traveled along the palm, a tongue searching for the cube of sugar. The horse made a satisfied sound and the junior squire petted the muzzle gently, letting the horse smell him. Knowing that he couldn't dawdle with handling one horse, he rubbed the horse's nose and gave it one last treat before quickly moving unto his next responsibility. Horses were finicky creatures and the boy knew that playing favoritism would prove dire on the field. Thus, his next responsibilities were also given treats and the same loving attention as well.

Meanwhile, outside of the stables, men were waking up, disgruntled moans and groans drifting through the tournament. There were occasional curses of frustration, especially when a squire was too stupid to obey orders. However, the cursing was kept to a minimum, thanks to the presence of the men's sovereign as well as the Chantry's sisters, who were there to help feed the men and organize the events.

When the sun had risen halfway between the horizon and its apex, there was a large crowd of people massing around the King and his entourage of a wife and close advisors. The King rose up and all of his subjects knelt in submission to his authority, except for the Revered Mother and her sisters.

"In honour of my father, our King Maric, we hold this Tournament in remembrance of him. May the best men win!"

Hollers of cheers deafened the area and Queen Anora's sensitive ears. Goblets were raised high in the air and the liquids consequently drunk.

-o0o-

A tall man was watching a pair of combatants fighting in one of the rings, his eyes scrutinizing the movements of one of them that spoke of high skill and grace. The spectator had come here not only to watch, but also to make observations, to see if any of these men would be potential recruits. His younger companion, who stood quietly beside him, was too busy eating a very expensive Antivan cheese to notice anything spectacular about the combatants. However, even he was drawn to the young man fighting against a much larger opponent in the first round of close quarter combat, dubbed as CQC by the King's Military Force.

When the match ended with the young man as the winner of the round, the taller of the watching pair looked to his companion and silently communicated with him. The blonde man made a sound of displeasure before stuffing his mouth with the cheese and swallowing it down with sweet Arrebeen juice. He turned around and left the spectator's stand, heading towards the direction of the stables and to the smaller compound behind it, where his other friends were.

The taller spectator's eyes kept watch on the ever diminishing back of his friend before reverting back to their original view, where they saw the two men bow respectfully to the King and then leave the circle. He was pleased to see the pair shake hands and made a note that the winner had good sportsmanship, a rare trait nowadays especially among nobles. Pride ran hot in their veins and losing a match was akin to losing fortune with money. Worse so was winning a match, where the winner's haughty character would prompt vicious resentment from the loser. His eyes lingered on the young King and his new queen, noticing the false cover the King was utilizing. It was a shame that his father had died and on Maric's deathbed, Duncan had sworn that he would protect his son, both from the world and from himself. The grief of having lost a father was cleverly disguised in the fair face, one that reminded Duncan too strongly of the deceased King. A normal man from where he stood would have not been capable in seeing how the strong jaw would clench in silent frustration with his wife's complaints. He would have not seen how the blue eyes had that slight wet look to them, as if the man had been crying all night in his sleep and had just now wiped the tears away, right before the commencement of the tournament. He would certainly not have been able to see that the young King wore a necklace, in which Duncan knew it to be an heirloom bequeathed to him by his father before his passing. However, Duncan was not a normal man, at least not anymore.

"A Warden!" Someone said nearby, in a very hushed tone. The man's gaze flickered to the owner of that voice and the poor man started to stammer, ashamed that he had been caught staring at Duncan.

"Yes," Duncan replied gently to the stammering man but making no move against him. "Is there something you need?"

The man shook his head fervently and he made to scramble away, only to rudely collide with another spectator.

"Hey! Watch where yer goin'!"

"Sorry! V-v-very sorry!"

An eyebrow raised in confusion at the sight of the man and Duncan inwardly sighed. Although King Maric had liberated Ferelden from its Orlesian occupants and permitted the Grey Wardens back into the country, there were still raw feelings about the Wardens. Every noble and peasant household knew of Commander Sophia Dryden's exile from Ferelden two hundred years before King Maric's edict. Worst of all, they felt justified in having her condemned to a permanent exile from Ferelden. King Arland was in truth a tyrannical man and Sophia, being a natural leader and one who couldn't stand the actions of immoral men, rebelled against the King. In truth, she and her company of Wardens held out against King Arland's large militia for months before finally succumbing. The details of the siege were murky at best though and were it not for a request of a good friend, Duncan would not have known that Soldier's Keep was still standing, seemingly intact and unaffected by the passage of time. The man's shout of 'Warden' prompted other men to gaze upon him, the majority of them being filled with ultimate fear and respect.

"What's a Warden doing here?"

"Mind yer eyes, luv!"

"Don't point, son! That's rude!"

"Does that mean darkspawn are here?"

Whispers rippled through the crowd and Duncan knew that it would have been better to hope that the Blight wasn't here than for people murmuring their dissent and their awe of the Order.

Feeling his indignation at being the centre of attention, the murmur suddenly quieted and trumpet horns blew loudly, indicating that another match was about to begin. The people were now more interested in the immediate event than the presence of a Warden. Wondering why his friend was taking so long in retrieving that document, Duncan opted to leave the stands, having already appeased his curiosity of the two men.

-o0o-

Laughter erupted from the interior of the compound and the approaching Warden smiled. He raised a flap and his smiled turned into a boyish grin. There, sitting at the table, were two Wardens involved in an arm wrestle. Grigoir sat on the left, his arm consisting of bulging muscles that just grew bigger and bigger until he slammed his opponent's lanky arm on the wooden table.

"I win," he shouted, his accent thick and of Orlesian descent, "now you have to buy drinks on the house,"

"What! I said I would buy drinks for both of us, not for these miserable lot!" The other man whined, but his eyes twinkled in good-natured cheer. He received a cuff on the head for his comment by another man, this one well built and broad-shouldered. "Oy! What'd you do that for!"

Grigoir's head threw back and a throaty laugh was emitted from the burly man. "That's if you had won, my friend!"

"Fine, fine," the other man groused and he stood up to leave, grumbling that the Maker himself should have given him a gift to read minds than a weak arm. "Alistair, you try arm wrestling with him!"

"No, thanks, you seem to be doing well enough on your own," Alistair shook his head in disagreement, "besides, Duncan wants me to retrieve something."

"Honestly, I don't know why Duncan is even here. Twelve of us should be enough to take on some darkspawn and an Archdemon," the man said, brushing past by his younger counterpart. "It only took one to slay Andoral!"

"That's cuz he was a cursed elf!" Grigoir shouted at the departing man, the others still laughing at the skinny man's loss. "Alistair, care to join me?"

"No, no, absolutely not! I like my purse having some weight today," Alistair laughed as Grigoir continued to insist and then managed to find another unfortunate victim, this one being the broad-shouldered man who had cuffed the previous loser. Duncan was going to meet with the King and he needed some documents. He walked past by the two men, their muscles in the arms straining profusely, and knelt by a chest that was stowed away in the back corner, by Duncan's bedroll. It was unlocked and it did not surprise Alistair like it should. The Wardens were all brothers; if they trusted each other with their lives, then possessions were of minimal concern. He searched through Duncan's items and found the documents to be on the bottom of the chest, underneath his shield. His Commander of the Grey rarely equipped the shield as he leaned more towards the dual-weapons training. It was still nice enough to look at though, with the insignia of a gryphon rearing on its hind legs. Another sound of a trumpet horn helped him focus on what he was supposed to be doing and he gathered the documents in his hand. The lid was closed shut and, on his way out, Alistair noticed that the broad-shouldered man also lost and was busy muttering on how he was going to kill Gregoir in his sleep.

"Oh shut it, you bitch. You know you lost!"

Another round of raucous laughter could be heard and Alistair truly took this as a good omen from the Maker, if He could forgive the whole lot of Wardens being drunk on their arses first.

-o0o-

"Your Majesty, some more mulled wine?" A timid voice asked the King and he nodded, watching the elven servant pour him some more in the goblet. Queen Anora, bless her heart, was apparently bored with the whole event, despite her efforts in not showing it. She also wore her best clothes, something King Cailan had advised against. She replied in an acerbic tone to him, saying that the men needed their queen to be beautiful beacon, something to draw inspiration from. He scoffed at her response, knowing that she was deliberately twisting his words. _H_e was the fanciful one here, not her. He personally did not want her there, but Loghain had suggested that _not_ bringing her with him to every major event would cause rumors to spread among the populace, rumors that could sow seeds of rebellion. Poor Loghain. He was always fretting over stupid conspiracy theories about the Orlesians and the possible reasons why the Wardens were here.

Yes, their presence clearly hadn't gone unnoticed. Loghain was the first to spot Duncan's tall figure that was snooping around the crowds and their Wardens crowding the tavern areas, causing many purses to lighten. There probably would have been some head-busting were it not for Duncan casually watching the scenes from the sidelines. Despite their rowdiness, they always ensured to not take it too far, more out of fear of punishment from Duncan rather than the King or even Loghain.

Loghain himself was heading the actual tournament. Cailan knew it to be a lost cause for him to lead it, especially since Loghain left no room for the young King to recommend him heading the actual event, not sitting at the table and trying not to look bored. Queen Anora shuffled beside him but he ignored her. He didn't know what had come over when he agreed to marry Anora Mac Tir, but it was his father's wish to see him marry off to a beautiful woman. Just like it was his father's wish to break things off with a certain someone, a someone who is apparently here as a participant. _Damn_ed honor!

"Cailan, dear," Anora began to say, her body struggling to get comfortable in the hard, wooden chair. He couldn't help but smirk at her discomfort. Any man would be just fine, just fine.

"Yes," Cailan replied in a monotonous tone, trying very hard not to sound annoyed by her future complaint.

"These cursed chairs," Anora said predictably, "I wish Father had procured more comfortable ones for us!"

"At least you have chairs," Cailan grumbled, "most of the participants and spectators have to stand."

Only nobles were provided chairs and those who weren't, well, they either had to stand or sit and fear being trampled on the hard ground. Anora's eyes sharpened into cold steel at the grumbled remark from her blonde husband, but Cailan wasn't fazed at all by her cold glare. He experienced it too many times as a child to be affected by it.

"Be that as it may," Anora continued and she looked at the second round of men fighting each other. "I still want a more comfortable chair. Perhaps father will find one for me instead of my useless husband." She stood up rather hastily, causing the chair to be knocked back a few inches than necessary. Picking up her skirts, she left the gondola, followed only by her faithful servant.

Unfortunately for her, Loghain was too busy to attend to Anora's request, waving off her complaint with a gesture of his hand all at the same time barking orders to the busboys and squires.

"No! You imbecile!" He shouted hoarsely at a stumbling, wide-eyed brunette. "Put it there!"

His finger pointed to the left hand side of another field, this one filled with stands that had bull's eye markings burned into them. The brunette hastily placed the stand closer to its neighbor, further away from the edge of the field. Loghain did not want any arrows to go astray and strike an unfortunate fool. The complaints and paperwork would be endless if a noble was stuck with an arrow due to an incompetent squire.

"Anora, please, there are many things to be done here before the day reaches the sun reaches its zenith,"

"But father, I can't enjoy this wondrous spectacle if I am experiencing some discomfort," Anora's eyes battered coyly at him and usually her father would consider such requests. However, today was clearly not the day.

" Anora, you must give me some room to work. The lads are too smitten with you here and there won't be _any_ work done. If that's the case, the tournament will linger on far longer than it's supposed to be and _you_ will have no one to blame but yourself."

Her face almost grew flustered at her father's refusal to help her but she wouldn't risk losing face in front of an improper lot of peasants. She held her head high and her shoulders reared back to give her a more confident posture. Loghain sighed heavily when she turned around in a stiff manner before kicking a squire on the ass for staring at his daughter so. The sun hadn't even reached the third hour of the day and Loghain was already given grief from his daughter. _It's going to be a very long day_.

-o0o-

Both Hadrian and Fergus won the rounds required to advance to the semifinals. There were four different age divisions: 18-22, 23-30, 30-35, and 36-45. Besides the age divisions, the tournament had three various types of combat the participant could join in. The most popular and crowded one was of course, the close quarter combat, where the participant could equip one of the following: sword and shield, a two-handed weapon, or dual weapons. Another popular division was the archery and last but certainly not lacking in the number of spectators was the empty-handed combat. Any aspiring noble, for they were only ones who could afford such entry fees of 50 sovereigns per person, who wanted to be champion had to win the highest number of points and be in every division available to their age. The first place garnered 9 points while second place and third place were 7 and 5 points respectively. These points were set across all divisions, regardless of the effort involved.

Since Hadrian was an exception, being almost eighteen summers, he was placed in the 18-22 division and thus, no mercy was quartered to him. Actually, most of the lads were quite curious about the youngest newcomer and in the first rounds, his partners were very lenient on him, not wanting to hurt the Cousland so much that the experience would scare him away for the next time the Tournament came around. Much to their chagrin though, Hadrian had proven himself valiantly and in the matches, he fought with everything he had, giving no leeway for his opponent to strike back. Seeing as how the Cousland was so focused, his peers decided to up a notch and in the second bout of rounds, Hadrian was given more of a challenge. His toughest opponent was someone from Redcliffe, a young man named Maverick, who excelled at two-handed swords. Hadrian had almost lost the battle to the bigger man, being only slight of built himself, but luck appeared to be on his side when Maverick's feet tripped beneath him and allowing Hadrian to duck underneath a clumsy blow and strike Jory firmly in the chest with the whitewood sword. The only _live_ blades allowed at the Tournament were the arrowheads used in the Archery Division since the arrowheads had to be strong enough to pierce the tough exterior of the stands. Also, it wouldn't do to have a sore loser assassinate the winner in his bed after a bad match.

He and his family had returned from Redcliffe a month ago. Hadrian, however, did not remember seeing his rival before. Perhaps he was out of the country for a while. He had just left the field when a familiar person approached him, clapping him heavily on the back.

"Hey! Well done out there!"

Hadrian's lips broke out into a shit-eating grin when he saw that it was Teagan Guerrin. No one could mistake that shockingly red hair anywhere.

"Thanks, though he almost had me," Hadrian and Teagan vigorously shook hands.

"You alone here? Where are your brother and sister-in-law?"

"Isolde is at home. She didn't want to abandon the castle to what she calls elven idiots. My brother is somewhere in this messy lot," Teagan's eyebrows furrowed in deep thought and Hadrian was just about to prod him on when the elder lad's face beamed happily down at him.

"I managed to get Connor out though. Just don't tell Isolde that though! She would flay my skin!"

Hadrian burst out laughing at Teagan's head swiveling around, eyes on the lookout for the tall woman who would give even Anora a run for her money with her sharp tongue and judgmental ways. The pair had caught the attention of the elder Cousland brother, who was waving to someone else while walking towards them.

"Fergus! Who are you waving to? Eh?" Teagan jested, trying to see if he could spot a particular lady who had caught the elder brother's heart.

"Oriana."

"Oh Maker's ass!" Teagan cursed. Both Couslands stared at each other in confusion. What could possibly make their friend curse so loudly? Then an idea dawned on them and they both snickered at how much trouble Teagan was going to be in.

"Let me guess," the youngest brother started to say, in between snickers, "If Oriana is here, then Isolde is here too."

"Yes," was a grumbled reply and Hadrian shook his head at the dejected look on his friend's face.

"Come, my friend," Hadrian pulled on Teagan's arm, gearing him towards a drinking tent that had been erected several feet away from the CQC grounds. "Let's get you something to drink so that you would be too out of it to feel Isolde's bites."

Fergus couldn't help but laugh at the redhead being towed by a slenderer boy. Yes, today was a good day and hopefully Oriana would accompany him to his home later on.

-o0o-

Luckily, the afternoon had passed uneventfully for its participants and spectators. A quiet lull had taken over when the sun reached the sixth hour of the evening. The King decided to have everyone take a break and prepare for the finals, which were to take place within the hour. Loghain himself was head judge of the finals for CQC and he was very, very surprised to see Bryce's youngest son warming himself up for the final match. His opponent was Ser Jory, a young Knight of Redcliffe Castle. He was even more surprised to see a brief glance of recognition on the King's face before it was replaced by a neutral façade. Had Cailan seen this young man before? And why did the young man have silver hair? It was very odd seeing that colour on a young man.

"Loghain, let's proceed with the match so that we may finish before day breaks." Cailan's succinct command caused his advisor to quirk an eyebrow in concern but he pushed it off nonetheless. Perhaps Cailan was tense in having met with the Grey Warden that had come by earlier this afternoon. It was too bad that Howe wasn't here to oversee that particular conversation, but he left his informant with the King's Advisor. Unfortunately, the conversation was buffed with a soundproof spell and by the time Howe's spy managed to get a mage to undo the spell, Cailan and Duncan were no longer there. They had walked somewhere else, as if they knew that they were being spied upon. Loghain had a sneaky suspicion that Cailan was up to something and he had to find out what it was before the boy could ruin his plans.

His brown eyes darkened at the thought that Cailan could be involved with the Orlesians; it wouldn't be the first time Cailan had tried to seek peace and communication with Empress Celene I of Orlais. However, the first time Cailan openly suggested it to Loghain was also the last time. Cailan was not a tactful man, despite having a crash course in court politics and foreign diplomacy. He was straightforward and a daydreamer at the same time. It was no wonder that Maric had run off to the Deep Roads when Cailan was just but a boy.

"Ladies and Gentleman," Loghain cried out, his voice carrying out even to the stands furthest to the back. "The moment we've been waiting for,"

His hands gestured to the two men who stood across from one another, their weapons at the ready.

"On the left side," Loghain's hand pointed in the direction of the man who had his Greatsword out and at the ready, "we have the Knight of Redcliffe, one of Sir Eamon's Knights!"

Roots and roars of the Knight's name could be heard throughout the arena but the Knight paid no attention to them, setting his focus on the young man standing in front of him.

"On our right side," Loghain directed the audience's attention to the young Cousland, "is Bryce Cousland's youngest son, the youngest participant since the days of King Calenhad!"

There were even louder shouts and yells of the Cousland's name, some coming from several of Sir Eamon's Knights. Again, Hadrian gave no sign of heeding his support but Fergus, his brother, and Bann Teagan knew that he was grateful for it. His parents, Bryce and Eleanor, politely cheered for their son from the King's Compound, where they sat with the other high nobility. Inwardly, Bryce wanted to shout out his son's name but propriety dictated his response to be mellow. He will congratulate his son in private, regardless of whether he would win or lose.

"This major event is the one we've all been waiting for! Whoever wins will earn the most coveted possession from the King himself! A Crown of Swords! The best set of armor crafted by the King's own quartermaster and endowed with magical runes that would earn the envy of even a Tevinter Magister himself. May the best man win!"

A bell gonged nearby, indicating the start of the match. The two men circled each other, sizing each other up and trying to determine the opponent's strength. Ser Jory saw how fluid his opponent was and the way he carried those weapons with confidence. He would have a hard time in winning and bringing home much needed sovereigns for his wife and future child. He had to win! He lunged forward, using a sword strike as a feint while bringing his shield to bash into his opponent's guard. It would have worked against an amateur but Hadrian was more experienced than that and he was slightly insulted that Ser Jory would make a move like that. He merely stepped out of the shield's path, parrying the sword thrust at the same time as bringing his own to thrust against an unguarded part of the Redcliffe Knight's torso.

There was a soft grunt as the sword came into contact and Ser Jory stumbled backwards, taken aback by the surprise manuveur. Hadrian didn't back off like Jory expected him too and he pressed his advantage against the stumbling Knight. Jory managed to block an incoming lunge from a sword and twisted his body around to avoid being bashed in the face with Hadrian's shield that just suddenly appeared in front of him. How was this guy so fast? It was as if Hadrian had a sixth-sense or something like that.

He dodged another blow only to run into the shield again, the cold metal biting sharply against his cheek. Stars appeared before him and when they cleared, he found himself staring at the clear blue sky, wondering how in the Fade he came to be there. Then a blurred figure swam into his field of vision, his weapon pointed right between his eyes.

"Yield," Hadrian almost growled at the downed man, his sword unwavering from his position, as if he didn't trust Ser Jory to pull off a sneaky move like throwing sand in his face.

"I-I-I yield!" Ser Jory's voice barely trembled; he didn't want the crowd to think him a coward. At first no one had said anything to proclaim the end of the match, not even Loghain himself. The King's advisor was stunned to see how quickly the match had ended and his eyes narrowed at the tall figure standing over the loser. _Apparently, Bryce had trained his boy well. That will be a problem._

"And we have a winner!" Loghain shouted. His shout seemed to bring the life back to the crowd, who roared and cheered.

Ser Jory couldn't believe it. He wasn't able to win this tournament and his family was going to pay for it. He waited for Hadrian to put up his sword and his opponent surprisingly offered a hand to him. He wasn't expecting that. He took the offered hand and almost stumbled into the man, the strength of the hand almost crushing his own.

"Sorry about that," Hadrian apologized to him, steadying him with a firm grip on the shoulders. "I was really tired and wanted it to end quickly."

The statement sounded awfully haughty and prideful, but Ser Jory's eyes couldn't find any such emotion in the young man's eyes. He found them to be frank and devoid of any such selfish emotion. This was one strange man and Jory had a sickening feeling that Hadrian was going easy on him. The Redcliffe Knight merely nodded in agreement and both men bowed before each other, honoring the end of the match, before finally bowing to their sovereign.

King Cailan rose up from his seat, clearly wanting to proclaim the winner and continue on with the day. He prompted the both of them to come forward and already had the winner's prize in his hands.

He knelt before the King, trying not to let his eyes stray up his former lover.

"Rise up, Grand Champion, and accept this gift!"

Hadrian rose up and the King stepped forward, a pleased expression on his handsome face. In his hands was the promised prize, an impressive set of dragonbone armor. Hadrian accepted the gift with outstretched hands and the King stood back. Rounds of applause, accompanied by hoarse shouts, suddenly burst out, deafening the King's Compound. Sharp whistles pierced the area and after Hadrian bowed a final time to King Cailan and Queen Anora, he backed out with as much grace as he could muster without falling flat on his face. As soon as he did so, bodies slammed into him, arms hugging him and voices called out his name.

"Hadrian! You did it!"

"Well done, little brother!"

"That was a close one though!"

The King had moved on from his affair with Hadrian, however, he couldn't help but feel some resentment and jealousy as he watched the boy being praised by the audiences. He briefly wondered what could have happened if he decided to go against his father's wishes, that perhaps Hadrian would be standing at his side instead of a cold woman who was a better door stopper than a wife.

He continued to watch the people congratulate the winner. The young Cousland bowed down to him one final time before walking towards the tavern, taking the crowd with him; he had a feeling that the tavern would need some major cleaning before they leave. His sharp eyes then noticed that amongst the crowd were the Grey Warden, Duncan, and his company of men. They were mostly humans, but he could easily see that the short, stumpy one had to be a dwarf. No human could be four feet tall and that hairy too. An elven mage was weaving skillfully around the large mass that was migrating towards the Tavern, but from his armor, Cailan knew that he too was a Grey Warden.

Seeing the company, he suddenly remembered a very interesting conversation between the Commander of the Grey and him from yesterday afternoon. It happened in that brief lull between semifinals and finals, where the men were more preoccupied with either winning the finals if they passed the previous ones or packing up for the night. Anora had gone to her private tent with her Orlesian elf servant and some moments after her departure, he saw a familiar person striding towards him. Cailan had an elephant memory and he recalled that this was the same person his father had introduced him to a decade ago, right after the Deep Roads incident.

**Memory**

"_Duncan!" King Cailan exclaimed at the approaching Grey Warden. He had grown taller over the past ten years and he aged well. He remembered what the Warden was like when he was but a boy. His fathr had just returned from a Deep Roads Expedition and when he appeared at Fort Drakon, in Denerim, he wasn't alone. It was strange to see a human in the company of elves and dwarves. Elves were hated while the Dwarves, while neither feared or hated, were still resentful for the loss of their Thaigs and blamed everyone for it, including humans. The female elf gave him a knowing look, her hand hovering protectively over her belly. The dwarf was clad in heavy dwarven armour, crafted from lyrium-infused dragonbone, the strongest of all crafting materials. Duncan bore the forefront of the group, following behind his father as they entered the main hallway. His father had picked him up in his arms, eyes twinkling with fearsome joy. Before, his father had almost resented him, ignoring his attentions and seeking out dangerous adventures, such as hunting down dragos or at least the rumours of them. It gave Loghain much grief in trying to handle a despondent King who was still mourning the loss of his Queen Rowan. _

_Now, though, his father hugged him tightly, feathering kisses on his cheeks, tickling the poor smothered boy with his neatly trimmed beard. _

"_Duncan, this boy here," Maric gently placed his son on the ground, a hand on Cailan's back to steady him as Cailan attempted to stay on his own two feet, "is my son."_

"_The nice lady there is young Fiona," Cailan's green eyes followed his father's finger, liking the beautiful colours of the lady's garbs and the almost motherly look on her face. "And this is Grigoir."_

_The dwarf's upper torso bowed slightly forward, but otherwise made no movements._

"_Hello…" Cailan said tentatively, his voice still high-pitched and boyish._

"_Good evening, your highness," Duncan's voice rumbled gently, a strong hand taking Cailan's small one in his. " how do you fare?"_

**Beginning of Flashback**

Now, twelve years later, Duncan bore the cores of the world and King Cailan was astonished to see how much Duncan had changed. No longer the tall, lanky almost twenty something year old of the past, Duncan had filled out quite nicely. His limbs were slender but toned while his face was framed by a strong, angular jaw. Cailan's eyes saw no visible scars on the man's body, but when he stared briefly into the man's eyes, he could see that some scars didn't have to be visible and his heart reached out for him. What could have happened that had changed the man so much?

"Your majesty," Duncan bowed his head in deference to his sovereign.

"Please, Duncan," the young King said in an exasperated tone, "you have always been welcomed in our family. Father spoke much of you in my childhood, how the Grey Wardens fought with the King of Ferelden to wrest freedom from the Orlesian occupants."

King Cailan had his back turned to the Grey Warden, exposing his vulnerable backside and thus trusting his visitor not to exploit it. Assassinations were few and in between, thanks to the memory of King Maric and his exploits, but Cailan still should have been more careful. That was the thought in the Warden's mind.

"I have urgent news, your majesty."

"Yes? What is it?"

"I've seen signs of a disturbance, south of Kacori Wilds."

The King sharply turned, his eyes wide in disbelief and at the same time, excitement.

"Then it's a Blight? Truly?"

"There have been no signs of darkspawn in that area, but…"

For the first in Cailan's memory, Duncan paused in his sentence. This man before him had always been sure and confident of himself. Now though, the Commander of the Grey seemed to wilt under some unseen force, a heavy burden.

"Duncan?"

"I'm sorry, your majesty, it's just,"

How could a Grey Warden explain his nightmares of the darkspawn to a young noble, King Maric's son even. Duncan flinched when he noticed that Cailan had moved away from the table right into his personal space, two intense eyes gazing at him in deep concern. How had the King moved so fast? Was he getting slow in his age?

"Just what?"

The young King's hot breath blew gently across his lips and Duncan felt the long-hidden desire for his friend's son revive itself through his loins, a warmth gently spreading across his body. _No! He's just barely twenty summers! I am at least thirty and those dreams..._

"Duncan?"

The question pushed at him mentally, the King's nearness assaulting his senses; that unique smell of lavender, the visual sleekness of the body seen even underneath all that bulky armor, and that voice, once boyish and high-pitched, was now deeper and more arousing than ever.

King Cailan was concerned at the Warden's silence, and he stepped even closer to his friend, taking notice of a light flush creeping unto the tanned cheeks.

"Are you feeling ok?" Cailan grew even more concerned now that the light flush darkened and Duncan made a barely audible sound, something akin to a soft groan. His hand made for Duncan's cheek but it was gathered rather abuptly by another, stronger pair. Cailan was shocked at how warm they were and there was that familiar desire again, the one he had a long time ago, with the young Hadrian. However, this feeling was stronger, this want to comfort the man, to tell him that maybe the darkspawn weren't here, maybe it was just a sign of paranoia from all these years of being in the Deep Roads and traveling to other dark places.

"Duncan, it's ok..." Cailan whispered softly to him, almost afraid of breaking this moment between them. He heard a mumbled apology and a name that suspiciously sounded like his father's before he was suddenly pulled forward into a rough kiss. At first he tried to fight it, his hands coming around to push the man away, but Duncan was too strong to be pushed away. The kiss deepened and Cailan couldn't help but moan as Duncan explored his caverns with an expert tongue. _By the Maker! Grey Wardens are good at everything, even kissing!_

The King's knees started to buckle helplessly underneath the onslaught of the passionate kiss and the same arms that tried to push Duncan away now clutched tightly at him, not wanting to let him go. He felt himself being pushed against his own desk and his face flushed at the thought that he would be taken here, on his own desk, in his own office, where anyone could just walk in.

It seemed as Duncan was having the same thought and he withdrew from the King, breathing heavily. The shock of what he had done was evidently shown on his face and he paled at the consequences this action could wrought for both him and the King.

"I'm sorry, your majesty," Duncan's voice hitched slightly but nonetheless remained as monotonous as possible. "I-It was not my place to do so."

"It's alright Duncan," Cailan reassured his friend and maybe now lover. Yes, for once, he would disobey his father and listen to his own needs for once. Hadrian was his first big mistake and he would always regret that. Now, though, it seems as if the Maker was giving him a second chance at love and this time, he will not hesitate in accepting this gift. "Let's go somewhere more private though...I fear that Loghain's lackeys are probably trying to listen in on this."

"Loghain?"

A finger on Duncan's lips shushed his next protest and the Commander of the Grey merely nodded in agreement.

The next few moments, Duncan had found himself being led deeper into the woods. They were followed of course by both Loghain's lackey and Duncan's own scouts. However, their reasons behind following the pair differed greatly; the former was ordered to extract any information regarding a possible Orlesian conspiracy while Duncan's scouts were there to ensure nothing happened to their Commander. Duncan was more than capable of taking care of himself but he was glad that his men looked out for him. When they stopped finally, Duncan made a subtle gesture with his hand, signaling to his men that they weren't alone and his men slithered from the dark shadows. There was a whisper of incantation and both men felt the heavy presence of magic. It appeared to Cailan that someone had cast a silencing spell, one that made the area utterly soundproof. The strength of it was evident of an experienced mage and Cailan made a wry smile; sometimes it was good to have a mage on your side.

"So, why the sudden kiss, Duncan?" The question was so straightforward and so serious that it threw Duncan off balance. The Commander had expected a question like 'what was that spell just now' or 'are you ready for this?'

"Your majesty-"

"Duncan," Cailan sighed lightly; how many times must he tell his friend to _not_ call him that. Titles were so overbearing and for some reason, it increased the political gulf between them.

"Cailan." The King liked how the Warden breathed his name, as if he was being worshiped. "We can't do this...your father..."

Cailan stepped back from his friend, furious at how his father had haunted him, even from the grave. Because of him, he had suffered everything. He suffered the pawing attentions of the nobles, the libations of Loghain and his snake-eyed Howe, his lost love, Hadrian Cousland.

"My father's dead. _King Maric_ is dead."

The flat tone of the statement shocked Duncan and for a brief moment, the Warden saw how easily this child could be mistaken for the deceased King. King Maric was a nice man, but after Rowan died, his cheery personality changed for the worse and the seriousness showed in the heavy eyebrows, the stoney look in his eyes. Only a certain someone had melted his heart, but she too had disappeared from both him and Maric, leaving behind a hidden legacy and a man who had a broken heart.

"And I refuse to have his mistakes haunt me, even when he's in the Fade," Cailan stepped into Duncan's personal space, forcing the Warden to back into a tree. He took Duncan's chin in his hand and leaned forward, eyes still open and focused on its green counterparts. Cailan knew that Duncan was a strong man and could have easily gotten out of there. However, the Commander of the Grey stood there, his arms coming around to wrap themselves around the King's body, not minding the slick feel of the cool metal. Cailan's lips locked with those of the older man's and both groaned at the sensuous kiss, slow and langourous with all the pent up passion from the years before.

It was as if the kiss gave Duncan permission to unleash his desire, his want for the young king. His love for the boy had matured over the years, not waning like with his previous lovers. Immediately, he grabbed the King and switched them around, with the King being pushed back against the tree that Duncan was previously leaning against. Hands grabbed at each other and sought to unlock clasps of their armour, to shed unnecessary clothing. By the time they were done kissing, both men were naked and rubbing against each other, gasping and panting. Duncan appreciated the way the muscles flexed responsively underneath his questing hands and another spike of arousal shot through him when he pinched a pert nipple and earned him a soft cry of his name. He wanted to have his lover cry out for him, to have his King squirm beneath his touches. The silencing spell was still there and there was another hint of magic, this one subtle and hovering at the edge of his senses. The elf mage must have noticed that this wasn't a normal 'conversation' between men and cast another spell, one that rendered the pair invisible to all seeing eyes. He grinned at how he could ravish his lover freely and he devoured the King's mouth, plundering the warm wet depths. He deliciously swallowed the moans, drawn out when the hand continued playing with the nipple and then moving onto to its twin.

Soon though both had to come up for air and Cailan's head jerked back suddenly, a strangled moan escaping the now bare throat. A hand had snaked its way down from his chest to splay across his belly, teasing the navel and then cupping the burgeoning erection.

"D-Duncan! Ahh!"

Cailan's hand hovered near his mouth, which clenched on the fingers that had hovered in front of it. Duncan gently but firmly took his hand and he feathered kisses along the jawline. He stopped by the ear and breathed softly in it, causing Cailan to shiver uncontrollably.

"I want to hear everything from you." Teeth nibbled on the earlobe and then a tongue slithered out to lick the sensitive shell. "Your moans, your groans, my name from your lips."

"Nnghh! D-Duncan!"

"That's right," Duncan's tongue burned him, its fiery trail dizzying the poor King. His hands clutched at the other man's, trying to touch anything that could make his lover feel good. Cailan heard a stifled moan when his fingers brushed against hardened nubs and he squeezed them more tightly, eliciting a harsh cry. However, it earned him a bite from the other man and he gasped out in pain, which then turned into a relieved moan as a soft tongue soothed over the bitten area.

The Warden soon went on his knees, nipping and licking every bit of flesh that was available to him. He stopped at the weeping erection and then looked up at his King. Cailan had his eyes scrunched close, in bliss and pleasurable agony of his attentions.

"Cailan..."

Eyes opened and its unfocused expression, along with the heavy flush that had covered his face and his entire body, made Duncan want him even more. However, he wanted his King to see _who_ was giving him this much pleasure, to know that it was his Duncan and not anyone else that was loving his body, loving _him_.

There was a perceptible nod and Duncan soon swallowed him whole; hands grabbed at his head, grasping desperately at his hair. No matter how much Cailan wanted to close his eyes, he forced them and found himself being pinned by an intense gaze. Hypnotized by the Warden's eyes and the sight of his member being taken in by the strong mouth, that same mouth that could bark orders to other men, this same one that could kiss the Fade right out of him caused something to coil tightly in his belly. It tightened even more when a tongue would sometimes just lick the tip before having his erection taken up into those hot depths. A small appendage teased the entrance and he trembled at the promise it held, just lightly caressing the outer rim before roughly thrusting into him, unerringly finding his weak spot. This time, the King couldn't keep his eyes open and he tossed his head back in climax.

"Oooh! Gnnghh! Duncan!"

The sounds of his climax could be heard and Cailan was horrified that the Warden might have pulled back at the wrong time, to end up with cum on his face. However, there was still that tight suction and hands firmly cupped his buttocks, pulling him closer to Duncan. The King suddenly realized that his lover was swallowing him, not letting even one drop slip out. His legs trembled and he would have fallen were it not for Duncan's strong arms that had been supporting his legs.

The King slumped in his lover's embrace. He could hear his lover's pants, heavy and hard in his ear. The finger had hurt him initially but the climax had washed away all the pain. He must have phased out for a second for he found himself being gently manhandled to the ground. Duncan's hands once again roamed the hard planes of his body, often playing with his nipples that had unwillingly hardened. How quick could this man recover? A hard kiss distracted him from finishing his thought and he couldn't help but moan into the man's mouth that had plundered his so wonderfully, so expertly. A hand traveled further south, purposefully bypassing his limp erection that was now pooling with blood, arching upwards and begging to be touched. Another finger pressed against his entrance and easily thrust itself. However, it merely caressed his walls instead of shooting straight through for his prostate, as if Duncan had all the time in the world to play with him. Then another finger was added and Cailan let out a whimper, the fingers inside him causing pain to shoot throughout his lower back.

Duncan heard that soft whimper and he immediately withdrew his fingers.

"Cailan?" A whisper of a voice floated through the hazy layer of pain and Cailan opened his eyes to find a pair of eyes looking down at him in concern.

"It's just..." Cailan stammered nervously. How could he tell the man that he was a virgin, at least as a bottom? Lucky for him, Duncan was an experienced lover and he let out a soft chuckle. He leaned forward and slanted his lips over his, this kiss gentle and slow but still passionate as ever.

"Don't worry. I'll be gentle with you this time."

_This time?_ Cailan didn't have time to wonder when Duncan pushed his legs apart, spreading him, and Cailan let out a squeak, his hands automatically closing over his groin, although it was certainly too late for modesty. _Was this how Hadrian felt when he was with me? Like a blushing virgin? _Again, a kiss distracted him, except this time it hovered dangerously next to his entrance.

"Duncan! No! S-stop!" His hands pushed at Duncan's head but to no avail. A limber, wet organ dragged slowly from the tip of his erection all the way to his hole before sweeping itself just over it, causing Cailan to gasp harshly. His hands pushed and pulled at his lover's head, unsure of whether Cailan wanted to stop him or push him onwards. From the way the salacious sounds were emitting from the other man, Duncan opted for the latter and dabbed his tongue inwards, revelling at the heat that was hidden away from the world, from him. How much he wanted to take this lithe body as his! Ever since he first laid his eyes on the young King, he had lusted for him. However, he stayed his hand for he was no childsnatcher, a Ferelden term dubbed for those who preyed on children for their own pleasures. He was an honourable man and he made a decision that he would wait until the little boy grew up and grew up this boy did. His body was wonderful and he craved for it. To make it even better for him, Cailan wasn't touched, at least not in that way. Sure, he had heard of the King's promiscuous exploits but they had always placed him on top, never on bottom, not even with the young promising recruit. Thus, this area that he was currently exploring and that was wringing every possible sound his lover could make was his alone. He was glad that his mage took the initiative to cast a cloaking spell as well as a silencing one too. The sounds the King was making would have aroused any man and he didn't want anyone to touch what was his.

"Gnnghh! Ha...Fuu..."

Duncan didn't have anything on him and so he had to make his King cumm again. The King's climax came not a moment too soon and it still made Duncan hot for him. The body arched back towards, taught as a bow. His lover's head was thrown back, his mouth opened to let out a hoarse shout and Duncan felt a little smug at hearing his name escape from those sinful lips.

Cailan fell back limply, his chest heaving and he felt strangely lethargic. His first orgasm had been intense but this second one was just mind-blowing and it left him even more boneless than his previous one. He flinched when he felt fingers caress his erection, covering themselves in his fluids, before rimming his entrance and then thrusting back inside him. His erection had lagged and he thought himself too tired to be aroused again. His body apparently had other ideas and he could literally feel the blood flowing back to his spent arousal. Where was this stamina coming from? Did the Warden slip something in his mouth while he was too busy kissing? He felt sticky down there and his face grew hot as Duncan aligned himself with his opening. _By the Maker, this is going to hurt!_

He clenched hard on his finger when Duncan slowly but evenly thrust in; agony like never before flared and he tried to swallow a scream. _Shit! No wonder Hadrian was afraid of this...this really hurts!_ Hands gently extricated his own from his mouth and the stubble of beard brushed against his, his lover kissing his wet cheeks in an attempt to sooth and calm him. A mouth worked on his earlobe and then a tongue laved its attention on it.

Duncan was trying to get his attention off the pain and it was working, somehow. His body started to relax around him and the sharp pain of penetration began to turn into a dull ache in the lower half of his back.

"I...I...have to move, Cailan," Duncan managed to say and he saw a perceptible nod of assent. Having permission, he slowly backed out, only letting the head stay in his lover before moving back in. When he did though, Cailan screamed and at first, Duncan was afraid that he had hurt his lover. He moved to stop and pull out but trembling hands caught at his shoulders, fingers digging deep into the hollowed dips.

"N-n-no...please..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

The Warden had almost forgotten that he was taking a virgin and he proceeded slowly, tenderly, fully aware of Cailan's flush that had spread from his face to his torso. His lover's erection was hugging tight to the abdomens and it was leaking again. The precum created a delicious sticky layer between them, allowing their bodies to slide against each other. Soon, his lover's face relaxed, no longer contorted in pain of his penetration. The hands that were previously digging into his shoulders now merely caressed his shoulders and Duncan groaned when fingers brushed against his nipple.

Cailan heard the deep groan rumble from his lover and he smiled at how he could bring pleasure to the man leaning over him, pushing against him every so gently. However, Cailan felt as if he needed more and he tried to push back but he couldn't on the hard ground. He was going to be sore tomorrow, that was for certain. Duncan whispered in his ear, asking him if he could go faster and deeper. When Cailan eagerly nodded his head, his lover leaned back and without warning, he had Cailan's legs hooked above his forearms and then thrust sharply forward.

"Aahh! D-d-duncan!"

All he got in response were heavy grunts and strangled moans from his lover; hands scrabbled for purchase on Duncan's thick forearms and he could feel the underlying strength in them. A tingle sensation curled at the base of his spine and for one terrible moment, the world whitened and someone screamed.

When he came to, he felt all the weight of his lover pressing downwards, almost crushing him.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I just can't breathe. Please move!"

Duncan laughed at the way Cailan emphasized _move_. Just before, the King was begging for him to move. He shifted to the side and grabbed an old tunic to wipe the essence of their lovemaking.

"So how is this going to proceed? I need to know," Cailan asked him, no demanded of him.

"However you want it to be, your majesty."

"I can't be seen with you," Cailan went straight to the point. His brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out what to say next. "But, I still want...I don't want to be alone anymore."

"You are King, Cailan," Duncan murmured to him gently, a hand caressing his cheek. "No one can tell the King what to do." _No one. Not even me._

Cailan's face nuzzled into the warm palm and he grasped it in his own, slightly smaller than the Warden's. "It's settled, then. I refuse to lose anyone else, not even _you_ to fate, to Father, and the Fade."

**End of flashback**

Cailan tried hard not to blush, especially when his eyes raked over Duncan's form that had stood out from the rest of the mass and how Duncan's face seemed to turn to his and meet with a steady but knowing glance. It was a good thing Anora was oblivious to all this. He should have felt bad for seeing another person behind Anora's back. Then again, he was quite sure that she was doing it too. The question is who she was seeing. However, that was unimportant. What was important now was his own happiness, something he should have done a long time ago.

-o0o-

"Are you sure he's the right one, Duncan?" Alistair had seen Hadrian fight in the last match and there was something very intriguing about the young man. He wasn't surprised to see him win that last round but the boy was so young, not even reaching his 18th summers! He heard his mentor chuckle at his question and Duncan's hand grasped the young Warden's shoulder, reassuring Alistair about his decision.

"Yes," Duncan's eyes gazed over the crowd of the masses, his tall form giving him a wide, uninterrupted view. He felt as if someone was watching him and he turned, only to find the King staring at him. Duncan gifted the watcher with a smile and he was pleased to see the King nodding his head, acknowledging him from afar. _I will see you again, my fair one. _

"Come, Alistair," Duncan walked after the mass that headed for the taverns. "I believe this calls for a celebration and Grigoir is yearning for some warm mead."

His partner scoffed at the remark and he followed his Commander, all the while thinking of that handsome man. _I wonder when I'll see him again._

-TBC-

A/N: So, so, how's the smut? You like it? You don't like it? Don't worry, Hadrian is still technically a virgin. All Prince Cailan managed to get with him was the fingering part...use your imagination for that. :D

That'll make the whole Hadrian/Alistair experience a whole lot more fun to write! Wooo! Don't worry, that will come sooner than expected. Just be patient, ne?


	12. Chapter 12

Explanations:

_Blah_ thought

_/blah/ _Zarieth speaking

Night of the Moon – midnight hour

Candlelight - one hour

Major thanks to my faithful followers: **Aki** and** YoshisSupport**. Not many, I know, but hopefully others will join u in time! You guys are awesome! If by any chance, this story garners at least 50 reviews, I'll write any one-shot story of your favourite pairing just for you two. How does that sound, ne?

Thanks to new reviewers: **a** and **slashguy**,

Thanks to all old and new readers as well! Enjoy the chappie! :D

Chapter 12: Cloak and Dagger

-o0o-

_I will be arriving today. Have everything ready._ Eian's eyes shuttered closed at the memory of reading that fateful letter. He had received it only yesterday and already Howe was planning on coming back.

The news of the Blight, fours years following the Tournament, had circulated first from the villages close to Kacori Wilds and then it eventually reached Denerim and the King's seat.

The response was prompt and swift. Hundreds, thousands of men had lined up to voluntarily join the King's Army over the past few weeks. Food and supplies were rationed into carts that were to be carried off south, towards Ostagar while the need for new weapons and equipment kept the blacksmith forges going all night for weeks on end.

To meet the dangers of the Blight, King Cailan had even ordered for the Templars to stand aside and allow the Magi to assist the King in his fight against the Darkspawn Horde that was brewing in the southern plains.

The Chantry was of course not happy but their protests had proven weak when compared with the possibilities of the Chantry being overwhelmed by the Taint, the punishment of the Maker himself.

Eian Gilmore wished for his own son to flee to the Free Marches. Instead, Lloyd had insisted on staying with his liege and Eian's heart broke when the boy would learn of his plans. _No! I will send my wife and even him to the North, to safety!_

He had already given Howe the details of the Cousland Castle, where all the exits would be and even the secret passageways that could be taken advantage of. He even knew of the rotations and the guards involved; Howe would be most pleased with him and hopefully this would be the last favour his Lord would ever ask of him. He had a feeling that he was going to pay for this, one way or another.

-o0o-

Seeing the King again at the end of the Tournament should have brought closure to Hadrian, but Hadrian's loss still lingered quite painfully in his heart. Every time he saw or even heard mention of either the King or the Prince, his body would stiffen in response and he would hasten to complete the tasks that was set for him in that particular location of gossip or place of the King's mentions. He socialized with others when he wasn't going through his grueling weapons forms and if one didn't know any better, he wouldn't have thought Hadrian to still be in mourning.

Lloyd caught sight of the silver-haired Cousland stumbling over in exhaustion and strove to help his Lord to his feet. Hadrian at first flinched from the contact of his officer, but Lloyd made sure to be gentle with the noble, handling him the way a horse trainer would handle a skittish and wild horse.

"Milord? Are you ok?"

"Yes. I'm quite fine. Thank you for your assistance."

He politely pulled away from the other nobleman's grasp and straightened himself, albeit with some effort on his part. Lloyd did not like the flushed look on his lord's face and he yearned to comfort the man, to soothe his aches and worries. Gossip about the two brothers were rare but he managed to hear of it from a drunkard bodyguard whose tongue got too loose from imbuing the strongest of ale. He had wanted to shut the guy's mouth himself but the guy held a rank over him. Such an offense to a superior would only incur a punishment like a week's worth of duty without any breaks or whatnot. The drunk started talking about how Hadrian had seduced the Prince and provoked the ire of the King himself. Of course, those were only rumours and Lloyd could tell it was the other way around, that the Prince had set out after Hadrian's affections. Luckily for Hadrian, his other personal guards truly liked their lord and one of them snapped at the drunkard,

"Shut yer mouth! Don't speak so callously of our lords!"

"Oh wot? You gonna gut me? Hehad it -!"

The drunkard's sentence ended with a loud snap and blood splattered all over his front. The poor bodyguard fell senselessly to the ground but no one else even bothered to come forth and help him up.

"Get this drunkard out of my sight! You lot! Not a word about Hadrian. Ever!"

The person who struck the drunkard was the highest in their ranks, a Captain of his platoon. The other guests in the Guards' Dining Area nodded numbly and they continued on with their drinking and conversations. The Captain gave the room a swift sweep with his eyes and seemingly satisfied that there would be no further gossips about Hadrian's affair, at least not tonight, returned to talking with the tavern keeper.

Lloyd was happy to see such blatant loyalty to their lords, as it should be. However, there will always be some bad apples, like the drunken bodyguard. Apparently, he wasn't the only drunken person and his Lord swayed dangerously on his feet again, his hands clinging to his breastplate for support. He took in the flushed expression and even he had to appreciate the beauty of his Lord's body, despite his preference leaning strictly towards the females.

"Perhaps...I am not ok..." Hadrian mumbled quietly and the heavy weight of the warrior suddenly became a dead weight in his arms. The officer had to juggle the awkward limbs of his lord before just resigning himself to carry Hadrian in his arms. Fortunately, there were other officers available and a brunette rushed to Lloyd's side, offering a helping hand. Lloyd permitted the brunette to help them and both of them carried him to the Infirmary Wing again.

Fergus himself had come by not too long after his brother's sudden collapse and saw that Hadrian was already up and about, ignoring the warnings by their elven Mage, Arialla.

"Hadrian," Fergus started to stay but Hadrian's hand halted what he was about to say next.

"I know Howe's men are here and Father had requested for me to be there in one candlelight," Hadrian's voice sounded a little bit strained and Fergus' worry grew.

Ever since the pact made by Zarieth and Hadrian, the latter would experience bouts of dizziness and then exhibit strange behaviour when there would be a full moon next, just like now. Even now, there was a light sheen of sweat coating Hadrian's strong face and Fergus began to wonder if maybe this pact was a bad idea after all. Why did Zarieth renew it like that? And what did he mean when he mentioned that his father's death would not nullify it as it should?

The elder Cousland started to research the pact with this spirit of the Wolf in its aftermath. However, the only things he could find were brief summaries of what happened between the son of Sarim Cousland, the father to their line, and the Blue Wolf, a mysterious spiritual guardian thought to be born of the Fade. In one of the manuscripts, dated a few centuries before the execution of their line by King Arland, it read that the Blue Wolf was second in command to the High Lord of the Wolves, thought to be one of the older Gods before the Maker existed. How could that be though when the Maker Himself created the world, created the old Gods themselves? That was what the Chantry had been teaching humanity for all these decades. He couldn't find anything else to confirm or deny his suspicions about the Chantry possibly twisting historical events to better control the masses of man and elves.

"Fergus? Are you ok?" Hadrian asked of his brother, concerned by the unusual silence of his older sibling. Usually Fergus would have something smartass to say, like collapsing like that was only for the girls to do to garner attention. Fergus' head shook in answer and he straightened up to meet Hadrian's gaze.

"Yes, you had better take your leave, if you are feeling better now," Fergus was already making headway out of the Infirmary Wing, "I'll be seeing Oriana and my son should you need anything."

A few seconds later, both of them walked in opposite directions; the younger of the two walking towards the Antechamber, where their father and Arl Howe were waiting for him

-o0o-

Apparently the two men weren't the only ones waiting for the younger Cousland to arrive. Hadrian saw a stranger standing patiently before his father, his attire immediately telling the young Cousland that this was a Grey Warden somehow. He remembered seeing him at the Summeremere Tournament but then again, that was quite a while ago. Arl Howe was just telling his father that his men had somehow been delayed and that they won't be marching with the Knights of Highever in time for their departure when Hadrian Cousland arrived, his eyes subtly narrowing into blue slivers of ice at the tail end of the conversation. _The Howes are never late to anything, not even a birthday! _Hadrian had always thought there was something _off_ with his father's best friend; the way he carried himself with those dangerous daggers that were tucked safely behind the Howe's back, how his words were said in that nasal tone of his. It wasn't like Isolde's aura that Hadrian felt a few years back, but something infinitely worse.

"Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be here as well," Howe said and Hadrian could clearly see that Howe was unpleased by this new development.

"Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?"

"Of course not, your lordship," Howe replied smoothly, perhaps too smoothly in Hadrian's opinions. The young man thanked his mother for tutoring him in the ways of the court for he could tell that Howe clearly had a problem with this. The question is why? "But a guest of this stature demands a certain protocol. I am at a disadvantage."

"We rarely are visited by such a person, this is true. Pup, Brother Albous taught you the topic of the Grey Wardens are, I hope?" Bryce had turned to him and Hadrian was happy to announce that he indeed had learned something from Brother Albous about the Grey Wardens. His father beamed with pride at Hadrian's confirmation, but Howe only gave him a slight grimace.

"Yes, so you were paying attention to those history lessons, after all," Bryce smirked at his younger son, who had the manners not to say anything else. History was not exactly Hadrian's strongpoint and the young man was notorious for falling asleep in his history classes. There were occasions where his own father would give him a head slap to wake him up and have him listen to Albrous' monotonous voice drone on and on about the history of Thedas. "I hear that Duncan has been looking for a recruit and that Ser Gilmore is a potential candidate."

"If I may be so bold, your Lordship, to mention that your son is another potential candidate for the Grey Wardens."

Hadrian's eyes widened in shock at Duncan's clear want in recruiting him. Join the Grey Wardens? But that was akin to a death sentence. There was a saying about the Wardens that they were like the walking dead, killing Darkspawn until the Taint would claim them or Death. At least that's what Brother Albous had taught him. Before he could reject the Grey Warden, his father beat him to it, stepping in front of him and blocking his view of the bearded man.

"Honor though that may be, this is one of my sons we're talking about. I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle. Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription."

His father was challenging the Grey Warden and even Arl Howe had a look of awe on his face when Duncan backed down from it, trying to reassure that Ser Gilmore was his intended target, not Hadrian. It was merely a suggestion. Somehow Hadrian figured that Duncan was serious in recruiting _him_ and that the Warden Commander was just biding his time, but for what? Bryce's stance relaxed and he stepped to the side, allowing Hadrian to fully scrutinize the Grey Warden standing before him.

Duncan, like Howe, had two weapons on his back but there weren't two daggers. Instead, a longsword was slung comfortably over his right shoulder and Hadrian could see that it was made from the finest crafting materials, such as dragonbone, like his own armor set won from the Summeremere Tournament. The Warden's armor was rather mundane in comparison to his weapons. His breastplate seemed rusty and uneven in some places while the symbol of the gryphon was barely seen underneath all that grime and dirt. What was the Grey Warden doing before he came here? It looked as if he was fighting to get here or something. Before he could ask Duncan for an explanation, his father requested something of him:

"Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are met with while Fergus and I are gone?"

"Yes, father."

"Now, then, I wish to have a private word with both Duncan and Rendon Howe. Find Fergus and tell him to get a head start in the morning. I shall meet him at Ostagar not too long after."

Hadrian bowed and he exited the room.

-o0o-

He was on his way to see Fergus when he bumped into one of his friends, Lloyd Gilmore. The redhead was out of breath and Hadrian waited for him to compose himself.

"I was just looking for you, milord! Nan said your Mabari got into the larder, again. She threatened that either you come and punish him or she'll have him skinned and flayed!"

"What? She wouldn't dare!" Hadrian became furious at the news.

"By the way, did you see that man? I heard he was looking for recruits, in particular, for me! Is this true?" Hope shone in his friend's green eyes and Hadrian chuckled at his friend's eagerness in wanting to join that doomed Order.

"Yes, but he made no mention of when your audition will commence," Hadrian said truthfully. _Should I tell him that a Grey Warden has no life? That he would be living on borrowed time?_

_ "_I see. Well, hopefully I'll have time to practice before then. In the meantime, we should probably go to the larder and see to Nan before your Mabari gets it."

Nodding in agreement, Hadrian and Lloyd headed out to the larder. When they arrived, it was to the scene of an angry female yelling rather uncouthly at the elven servants, who were too busy shrinking from her than heeding the arrival of their superiors.

"What's going on, Nan?" Hadrian said in a calm tone, walking into the kitchen. "Why are you yelling at them?"

The young man had always been partial to the elven servants and he hated when other people mistreated them. Nan was one of those who had no tolerance for them and it was evidenced by her easy provocation to anger at a simple mishap by an elf, such as forgetting to clean a dish or sweeping the kitchen floor.

"Your dog is in that bloody larder and one of these damn elves accidentally locked him in there!"

"Easy, Nan. I'll get the mutt out, just go easy on the servants. It's not their fault, after all." Hadrian appeased the impatient cook and his soothing tone calmed her down. She sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. Ser Gilmore, having seen Hadrian mollify the ever-irascible cook multiple times, was not astonished to see this scene unraveling before him. The elves were feeling calmer too and the look of fear on their faces eased away.

"Fine, just get rid of him!" Nan huffed and she stomped off into the pantry, the elven servants following in her wake but not before gifting their superior with grateful expressions. Both men just stared at the departing woman and Hadrian exhaled, glad that the woman was finally going away. _Maker's breath, no wonder the elves are so afraid of her! She screams too damn often and at the little things!_

"I'll just wait here, ser," Lloyd said and Hadrian went into the larder alone, ready to smack the mutt on the rear with the flat part of his blade as he so often did in the past.

Several moments later, both Hadrian and Regus came out; Lloyd was startled to see blood covering the Mabari's snout and Hadrian's sword.

"Ser? There's blood..."

The Cousland youngest seemed to notice the blood covering the tip of his sword and he grabbed a towel to wipe it off.

"Rats in the larder. Looks like Regus was doing his job in protecting our food." Hadrian knelt down next to Regus and patted him on the head. The Mabari growled affectionately and rubbed his head against the side of Hadrian's face. Ser Gilmore grimaced as the blood of the rats smeared on his lord's cheek but Hadrian didn't seem to mind it one bit. He just wiped it off with the clean side of the towel. "Well, tell Nan that there were rats in the larder and Regus was doing his job in 'cleaning' house. I'm off to see Fergus and my nephew."

-o0o-

**Night of the Moon (akin to midnight)**

Hadrian's rage in response to Nan's threat of sending the dog away paled in comparison when he found the mutilated corpses of his brother's family. Regus' whimper echoed his own loss as he turned over his nephew and his fingers shook when they trailed down cold, pale cheeks of Oren. Just moments ago, Oren's cheeks were flustered when his father had to explain what a 'wench' was to him and Oriana had hit Fergus lightly on the shoulder, scolding his brother that their son was too young to learn about that. Just moments ago, he left his brother's family, the trio huddled close in saying their farewells to Fergus. If only he had known about Howe's betrayal. He should have listened to his instincts that screamed at him as soon as he laid eyes on Howe earlier that day, when he announced his men's delay.

His mother let out a shriek of denial when she came up behind him and she knelt beside him, gathering her only grandson in her arms.

"No, not my beautiful Oren! And Oriana! Dear Maker, what did they do to them?" She cried out, clutching at her murdered grandson.

Hadrian's eyes unwillingly drifted to the body of his sister-in-law and they widened when they landed on a trail of blood that originated from her lower half. Her clothes were tattered and torn into pieces, as if she was fighting off a pack of hungry wolves, except Hadrian knew that it wasn't wolves which attacked her in that way but men.

"Oh Maker! Oriana! Why are her clothes like that? No!" His mother's face paled and she almost looked like a corpse, her skin blue in the silver moonlight that drifted through the opening of the bedroom. Hadrian's arms wrapped around her and he gently guided her face into his shoulder, to see if he could spare his mother the ghastly sight of a woman having been violated in a most heinous manner. She screamed and sobbed into his right shoulder, her tears wetting the armor he wore.

They didn't have long to mourn their relatives' deaths for shouts of men hollered in the hallways followed by clashes of fighting and screams. The fire raged on outside the room, licking hungrily at the stoned walls and the blood that congealed in cooling bodies of the dead. He ordered his mother to stand watch as he arranged the bodies properly on Oriana's bedroom, to where any onlooker would think of them as merely slumbering, despite the blood. Hadrian took the Tears of the Maker, a necklace Fergus gave to her for their wedding day, from Oriana. He knew that if he left it there, it would be sullied if not by Howe's men but by a thief's hand.

The pair left the room, feared being trapped by Howe's men, and made their way into the heart of the chaos, where they wished they hadn't met Arl Howe after all.

-o0o-

Bryce couldn't believe what he was seeing and he cursed at his helplessness. He shouldn't have sent all of his forces to Ostagar all at once but the King's Call to Arms was not to be denied. When he woke up to blistering heat, he found himself almost being caught on fire and he had to rush out of his study only to be accosted by one of his most loyal vassals.

"Eian? What's happening? What's going on?" He saw something shift out of the corner of his eye and then agony ripped through his side. He gave a pained yelp and his hands flew to the source of it, to clutch at the dagger that was embedded in his gut.

"I'm sorry, milord but I owe Howe a debt that could only be repaid with your life."

"Maker…curse…you…" Bryce stumbled away and it felt as if he was on fire this time. His hand trembled as it tried to reach for the dirk strapped at his ankle. Eian sensed his intention though and before Bryce could throw the dirk at him, he made a move to throw his dagger at him only to stop in mid-movement. Bryce saw the point of a longsword thrusting through his assassin's chest and Eian gasped, eyes held in disbelief that someone had managed to sneak up on him. He made a gurgling sound and then fell forward, revealing the person Bryce was truly happy to see.

"Your lordship," Duncan's voice rumbled and the Grey Warden stooped down to his level, his hands hovering over the mortal wound. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it in time."

"Eleanor…my son…" Bryce groaned as pain flared and the question of their well being got stuck in his throat.

"I've seen no signs of them, however, we must get you to safety. Howe's men are looking for you." Duncan slung one of Bryce's arms over his shoulders and he slowly got to his feet, all too aware of the blood that just seemed to flow even more heavily with the movement. There was a grunt from the Cousland Head but Bryce knew that the Warden could be able to carry him better and faster if he was conscious. His body protested violently as blood expelled from his throat and mouth only to land on the stones.

The Warden noticed that the nearest spot he could hide the wounded was in the servants' quarter. Hearing and seeing the man vomit prompted him to not waste time in transporting the nobleman and the Maker seemed to watch out for them as they arrived in the quarters without any confrontations. He carefully deposited Bryce in a little alcove tucked away in the back corner, where it was too dark to see from the entrance.

"Why would Howe do this? Why?" Bryce's eyes scrunched closed as another jolt of agony.

"I don't know, but I will try to find them. Stay here and stay quiet," Duncan departed the room too quickly for Bryce to rebut his request. He made to go after him and only managed to fall on his uninjured side, stifling a moan that threatened to leave clenched teeth. If Howe's men were near and heard him, he would meet his end before seeing his beloved ones. Slowly, he inched his way towards the opening and just when he thought he made progress in keeping silent, footsteps pounded in the hallway that would lead to this hiding place. He stilled and begged the Maker that it wasn't Howe and his men.

When he saw his wife and son enter the room, their heads frantically going from side to side, he released a pained gasp of relief. They were just about to leave, fear on their face, when he managed to call out of them in a hoarse whisper that sounded like a scream to him.

"Bryce! What happened?" Eleanor rushed to his side, her hands cool against his cheeks. Hadrian's eyes smoldered dangerously at him and his fists clenched at his sides.

"I…Howe's men got to me first…" Bryce explained and he closed his eyes as another bout of agony washed through his body. He could feel himself losing consciousness but he had to stay awake, he had to see his family to safety with Duncan.

"It's true," another voice interrupted them and Hadrian immediately stood in front of his parents, his family's sword already in his hand, waiting for the first enemy to fall unto its blade. His caution was not needed though and Hadrian saw a familiar figure walking forth in long strides, its telltale grey armour glinting in the torchlight.

"Duncan? That's your name, right?" Eleanor asked him, but her attention was riveted to her husband, his form slumped against her chest. The tall, bearded man nodded in agreement, his hands sheathing his daggers at his back.

"Howe's men have not yet discovered this place, but it's only a matter of time before they do."

"Take them, Warden…get them out of here!" Bryce coughed and more blood appeared around his lips.

"I will, your Grace, but I need one thing from you," Duncan said and Hadrian tensed, knowing what the Warden was going to ask of his father. How could he ask for that from a dying man? Was it because it was easier to wring any answer from a dead man? His own father knew what Duncan was up to but instead of refusing like Hadrian would have done, he agreed to it.

"What? Father! I won't leave you! Noo! Absolutely bloody not! We can get you of here!"

"I'm…afraid…that you may…be leaving…pieces of me…behind, pup." It was true. His father did not look well and his face took on a pallor best suited for a corpse.

Hadrian glanced over his father's wound and knew that the wound was poisoned as well. Whoever had done this was a skilled Assassin for the poison was fast-acting and his father would be dead before they could find any available healer. He suddenly wished that he were a mage, just like his friend, Loren. He could have healed him just like that and they would all be running together, wounded from the betrayal but at least alive.

"Duncan, take my son out of here," Eleanor said in a determined voice. When Bryce protested, she hushed him, her fingers caressing his brow. "I have always been at your side, love, and I'm not leaving you!"

"Mother, please. I-I can't just leave you like that!" Frustration tore through Hadrian and he wanted to scream at his parents' stubbornness, at Howe's betrayal.

Shouts could be heard from the corridor and they were getting closer to where they were. Duncan's hand nudged at his hip, urging the young man to flee with him.

"Avenge us, pup, and tell Fergus…we love you both," his father's shout echoed eerily after them as the pair ran from the scene, just barely avoiding another surge of men with Howe's emblem carved into their shields. From a corner, Hadrian watched Arl Howe himself enter the premise and while he was tempted to head over there and gut the traitor, he knew he wouldn't get very far afterwards before being killed. Duncan had his recruit and Hadrian cursed that he was a dead man, now, with nothing left to lose.

-o0o-

/_It is time/_

Bryce heard the voice call out to him. Even Eleanor heard the Blue Wolf who appeared before them, looking beautiful as ever. Bryce felt shameful to be presented to him in a bloody manner. Zarieth's eyes pierced his own and suddenly, the Cousland Head understood why Zarieth had warned him. If only he knew about Howe and his treacherous deeds. Now his pups were left with nothing except an usurped House with a snake coiling deep within its bloody depths.

/_I have warned you about this, and you have paid for it/_

"There's nothing we can do now. Howe's men are coming and we will take them down with us."

Blood welled up from his stomach and into his mouth. He hacked sickly, the agony of the side wound causing him to almost lost consciousness.

/_No matter. It was destined for it to happen. Know that your pups will avenge you both and bring honour back to both the Couslands and the Howes./_

"Are we to die then? Underneath the blades of our once allies?" Eleanor shouted angrily at the entity.

/_The High Lord cannot grant immortal life to creatures such as you. However, he will grant you death before the Howes find you. Know that this is a great gift./_

"Wait! How will...how will the contract be renewed?"

"Bryce, of all the times to be asking about that!" Eleanor chided her husband, but there was no real venom behind it.

She clutched tightly at her dying husband and almost jumped when the door opened, Howe's men charging in with their swords with Arl Howe at the head of them. They apparently couldn't see Zarieth sitting in between them. Rendon Howe, a scowl on his gaunt face, came forward, a dagger in his hand.

"I'm so glad you stayed, old friend," Howe sneered at his downed enemy, unaware that Zarieth had stood up on his haunches. He raised his dagger that quickly sliced across Eleanor's delicate throat and earning a choked scream from Bryce. Before he could finish Bryce off, blue light suddenly flashed into being, enveloping both Bryce and Eleanor. He closed his eyes and his hands instinctively put out in front of him for protection. A wolf's howl could be heard echoing throughout the castle and the light vanished as quickly as it appeared.

When Howe opened his eyes, he found his vanquished enemies slumped helplessly on the floor, their eyes closed and there were sad smiles on their faces, frozen in death. He cautiously leaned forward over the bodies and pressed fingers against Bryce's throat.

"Dead. They're dead," Howe whispered almost to himself. He wasn't able to kill them himself and his anger increased when clearly something had thwarted his efforts in humiliating and then killing the Couslands.

"Milord? What shall we do with the rest of the guards?" A blonde man had asked the Howe, his voice trembling.

"Kill them. We take no prisoners." Howe responded coldly and he stood up, sheathing his dagger. His dagger will taste the blood of other Couslands, such as Fergus and that brat. Of that, he had no doubt.

"What about the Teryn and Teryna?"

"Take their heads; burn the corpses."

Howe could hear voices of dissent behind him and he whirled around, angry that his soldiers would voice their dislikes at such an order. As soon as he did, the soldiers straightened up, too terrified to disobey the Howe's orders. He strode out of the cellar and vowed that his rise to power would only be completed with the deaths of the Couslands and with their heads on display.

Half a candlelight later, two men watched from afar as the Cousland Castle burned, the flames towering high into the night sky. One of them watched the monstrous conflagration overtake his home as easily as if it was a paper mache. His blue eyes flashed angrily in the darkness and, with inconsolable rage in his heart, he vowed that his parents' murder will be avenged, that Howe will pay dearly for this.

-TBC-

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chappie for the next arc is about to begin and it's full of romance, humour, angst, and of course, a healthy dosage of smut with various pairings, both slash and het. Of course, since there are so many stories out there concerning the Blight and what not, I'm considering in cutting this story short and work on an Anders/M!Hawke story. I don't know...should I continue this?


	13. Wolf's Journey: Mask of the Wolf

**A/N**: Yay, the hits just like doubled! BAM! Not so much for the reviews but that's ok. Hopefully, as the story progresses and our characters go from the frying pan and into the fire, there will be suggestions, opinions, blah, blah, right? Right? And I'll do my best in answering reviews in the succeeding chapters as well.

To:

**YoshisSupport**: This is my favourite pairing too, whether the Cousland is a female or male. Of course, I prefer seeing a hot male making out with Alistair. Maybe that's just the fangirl in me! Since the Anders/M!Hawke fanfiction has a strong correlation to events happening in this story, I will continue this story. So that's the good news! No bad news, yet! As for the Isolde part, yes, let's just say she'll wish she was dead when Hadrian finds out about her evil treatment of Alistair.

**Aki:** Yes, I keep my promises and this is one of them. I just want to show how grateful I am in getting reviews from you and everybody else. I try to be descriptive so my readers can imagine what's going on. Sometimes, I can overdo it though. Let me know when that happens. Also, does this fic seem a little bit angsty to you? It kinda does to me. I need to lighten it up a bit. Hmmm. Suggestions?

**Alasse Telrunya: **Awesome! A new reader/reviewer! Yes, I've decided to post the story. It's mainly dedicated to all the readers out there and myself. Plus, the increasing number of hits on this story helped me decide whether or not I should continue it.

To all readers, enjoy the chappie!

**ARC II: WOLF'S JOURNEY**

**Mask of the Wolf  
**

_Hadrian woke up to find himself lying in his bed at the Cousland Castle. Regus was standing on all fours, growling at the door, its hairs standing up on all ends. He has seen this before, heard the screamings of people being murdered in their beds. Thinking that maybe the Maker gave him a second chance, he did not hesitate in unsheathing his weapon and grabbing his shield. He ran out of his room, killing all the Howe's men who dared to block his way. It was already too late for his brother's wife and niece, their dead eyes staring into nothingness. However, his parents were still alive, somewhere in this burning castle. The Antechamber was in flames, the heat burning his eyes even as he stood far away from it. Without regard to his own safety, he barged through the door, using the shield as a cover against the raging flames that licked along the walls. There, his parents were kneeling down, with Arl Howe standing over, making a motion with his finger._

_He reached out to his parents who were urging him to flee, to escape Howe's treacherous hand and avenge their deaths. Someone was holding him back and he fought back, trying to slip away from grasping hands. Then a voice called out to him, an unknown voice followed by an image of a twelve year old boy. The young child smiled at him and waved, saying that it wasn't his time yet and they had to meet before that time comes. When he asked what his name was, the boy gave him a knowing grin and replied, "you already know my name. But what is yours?"_

Hadrian startled awake, his heart beating so rapidly, so strongly, it felt as if it was going to burst from his chest. Movement occurred nearby and he instinctively flinched when a hand was laid on him.

"It was just a dream, Hadrian," someone said and the young man looked up at the voice's source. There standing before him was the man who had so conveniently stepped into their family's life. What was his name again? It began with a D.

"Duncan?" Hadrian managed to remember the man's name, retrieving his memory from the unwanted others that still haunt his dreams.

The named man nodded curtly and he handed him some dried meat. Hadrian was about to refuse, not wanting to take food from the man who was linked to his family's death, even if it was unwarranted. However, his stomach growled loudly and the young man felt kind of sheepish at initially refusing food when he was clearly famished. Duncan, to his relief, hadn't commented on that and the pair ate in heavy silence near the campfire.

"We must move quickly. We are still too close to your home. Relieve yourself now so that we can move on."

The Grey Warden spoke this all the while dousing the low fire he had made when Hadrian slept, exhausted by recent events. He didn't have very much to pack and by the time he finished talking to his recruit, he was sheathing his weapons.

His recruit at first didn't move and Duncan was afraid that he would have to be stern with the last survivor of his clan. No, second to last if Fergus could be found at Ostagar. The older man hoped Fergus could be there, alive and well, to greet Hadrian and comfort him in their loss. He was just about to say something to the brooding young man when his senses tingled and he withdrew his weapons. A dagger was brought in front of his face in time to block an arrow that was aimed at his head. _Howe's men!_

He hadn't needed to tell his partner about the enemy for Hadrian had already equipped his family shield and sword. _Good, even filled with grief he can still fight. That will fuel his future battles, giving him the strength to endure this Blight_. The Grey Warden easily parried a blow that came at him from behind, skillfully relaying the motion and bringing his own dagger into his enemy's flesh. He was long inured to the sight and smell of blood, that particular pained look on his fallen enemy's face. Once he had dispatched his enemies, he turned to find his recruit decapitating one of Howe's scouts, a fierce expression on his face with blue eyes glinting and a satisfied grimace.

"Howe's men have reached this area sooner than I expected. We must leave now." Hadrian didn't need to be told twice about their exigent situation and he hastily packed his own personal things in a small pouch. He tucked the pouch into the small opening of his breastplate, wanting to keep his mother's amulet as close to him as possible. It was the only thing he had of his mother and he sorely wished that he would not lose that last link to his family.

-o0o-

It took them only a week to reach Ostagar by horseback. Several miles before the entrance to Ostagar was in sight, Duncan suggested that the mounts could smell the taint from far away and it would be prudent to drop them off at a nearby village. Hadrian was all for it seeing how skittish his mount was with him to begin with. It shied around him initially, its eyes almost rolling in unexplainable fear and the young Cousland growled out of frustration. Almost immediately, it stopped prancing, staying stockstill even when the young Hadrian mounted him and took hold of his reins in firm hands. The young Cousland had never been cruel to animals, even in anger.

The first few days had been almost unbearable. With the full moon in sight, all Hadrian wanted to do was run, to bask underneath the silvery rays of the moon, to hunt down those who hunted them. His usual feverish bouts were miraculously kept at bay as he didn't really want Duncan to ask questions. He knew that if Duncan spoke, it would bring up horrible memories of that day of his unexpected arrival. His voice unintentionally acted as a trigger for those nightmarish visions of the past and Hadrian had to stop several times, to bring his feelings under control.

Only once Duncan asked if there was something wrong and it was the last time as well.

It was on the second night, when they made camp by a creek. Hadrian had walked off the campsite, his headaches killing him and almost blinding him. Regus was with him, deliberately brushing against him to act as a guide. If the dog turned right, then Hadrian would turn right, to avoid walking into a tree or an oncoming shrub.

The dog stopped in front of him, sensing that its Master was tiring after him. When Hadrian made no attempt in walking ahead of him, Regus turned his body around and let out a sad whine. The Cousland's hand patted him on top of his head, his fingers often twirling around the small ears. Regus enjoyed his ministrations and he flopped down at his master's feet, placing his head on his front paws. Although he gave off a seemingly relaxed pose, Regus was still alert, his senses still hearing, still tasting his surroundings for any danger that could strike his master when he was at his most vulnerable. The air shifted and there was a pained moan coming from above him. However, having gone through this multiple times with his master, he knew there was nothing he could do except to keep watch.

The moon peeked out from her cover of clouds that rolled by in the black sky. Its rays hit everywhere and Hadrian was no exception. When it landed on him, his eyes glowed in the darkness and the unseen spectator watched at how his silhouette changed. The spectator stepped back almost in shock and Regus stood up, snarling at the intruder, despite the scent being somewhat familiar.

The noises of the woods and the intruder halted the spell that had overcome Hadrian and he whirled around to face a very surprised Duncan.

The Warden couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was it an abomination? Bryce made no mention of having mages in his family line; in fact, his was the _only_ noble line without any mages, a fact that had caught notable attentions of the First Enchanters throughout Thedas. When he came back to the camp holding three rabbits in his hands, he had expected Cousland to disappear into the comforting darkness. To see this was wholly shocking and the Warden's hand almost reached for his dagger but the humanoid in front of him seemed rational, despite the disturbing glow of his eyes.

"Hadrian?" Duncan's hand slowly dropped from its original position and his body relaxed, trying to portray a non threatening posture. It worked as Regus did not lunge at him. Instead, it merely stayed at Hadrian's side, growling and slightly baring its teeth, a clear warning to Duncan that should he make a move toward his Master, Regus would not hesitate in attacking him.

"Duncan, you should not be watching this," the voice spoke, but it was deeper, much deeper than Hadrian's already timbre tones.

"Are you-?"

The man let out a harsh laughter and for a moment, Duncan thought that maybe Bryce had lied to him about having no mages in his immediate or even distant family.

"No, I am _not_ one of those abominations. They are shameful creatures of the Fade. I am something more, something far older."

"Then what are you? Where is Hadrian?"

"I am Hadrian."

"No, this isn't, this isn't Hadrian." Duncan's body tensed as the body of Hadrian Cousland suddenly thrust itself at him. By the Maker, he was so fast! He tried to dodge out of the man's directed path but couldn't. The force of the man slammed him against one of the evergreen trees and his ribs groaned underneath the additional weight.

"How do you know who this man is? You who have appeared out of nowhere at my father's Castle, you who somehow saved my father from Howe's men only to leave him there, to die, to force a promise out of a dead man."

"Is this what you want then, revenge? The Blight takes precedence over personal matters." Duncan said, his body coiled and ready to move if Hadrian wanted to kill him.. He had rare moments of fear, where he felt Death coming for him back in the Deep Roads. This was such a moment and he wondered if perhaps he should have left Hadrian back at the Castle, to be captured by Howe's men or to die there with his parents and friends. He stared into those blue eyes and gasped when he found normal eyes staring back at him, still full of anger and rage

"I want Howe's head on a stick and not even the Blight will stop me."

As soon as he said those words, he released Duncan from his iron grip and stumbled away, as if exhausted by this conversation. He managed to catch himself in mid-stagger and Regus went to his side, guarding him from the Warden, who was panting and heaving, still recovering from whatever had happened.

A few moments had passed and clouds rolled by. They smothered the moon and Duncan saw that Hadrian's form had reverted back to the one he was used to seeing. The man turned around and normal eyes widened when they espied Duncan leaning against the tree.

"D-Duncan! I'm sorry…this…you…were not meant to see it."

"Yes," was all Duncan could say. He pushed away from the tree and his hands unclenched. Hadrian looked the same. His body had grown smaller from its previous form and the eyes no longer glowered in pure rage. He was not one to pry into personal matters, but with his life at stake here, he had to ask.

"How often do you experience this?"

Hadrian's head ducked shyly, as if embarrassed or maybe even shamed by this incident.

"Every full moon. I…it feels as if…I'm burning…but from the inside out…" His hands trembled and Duncan, seeing the man much closer and more clearly now, could see that the man _did_ look feverish. There was a faint sheen of sweat on the man's face and his body trembled, shaking like it would on a cold night. "Most of the times, I can control it, but that was before…"

Duncan didn't need for Hadrian to finish. He knew what his recruit meant. This man standing in front of him had lost everything, everyone close to him. His brother was still alive, but even that wasn't for certain. That could break any man and Duncan understood why Hadrian had lost control of himself, quite literally. It doesn't explain why he was an abomination though.

"You almost killed me," Duncan said matter-of-factly. "Why?"

"Like I said," Hadrian explained, "you weren't meant to see it. No one is."

"Who told you that?"

Silence pervaded the area and for a second, Duncan thought Hadrian wouldn't answer him.

"Zarieth," the man finally murmured and a strong breeze picked up, carrying the name with it. Duncan almost missed hearing it because of that.

"Zarieth?"

"Yes, he's our spiritual guardian, Wolf Protector of the Cousland Family." The phrase was said so nonchalantly and so matter-of-factly, as if Hadrian expected everyone to know of this. Duncan gasped for he had heard of such a name. The Couslands were well-liked in Highever and all of the Teryns had ruled it with a kind but firm hand. The Warden himself was born in Highever, There were legends of large wolves roaming around the countryside and how some of them could communicate; however, they only spoke with the Couslands, if any of this was true. The gossips say that the leader of these monstrous wolves was named Zarieth, meaning Guardian in ancient Tevinter.

"Are you well now? Dinner's getting cold and we must be on our way."

"I'll be there...it's not safe for me to return just yet," his recruit said in a strained way and Duncan's head nodded in acknowledgement. The Warden Commander walked away and upon arriving at the campsite, he heard a howl. It raised the hairs on his neck when he realized that wolves didn't venture this far south of Ferelden and that the howl originated from where he used to be, north off the campsite. This was going to be a very long night.

-o0o-

There were no further mentions of what transpired the past night as the threat of Howe's men hunting them preoccupied the two men. Thanks to Regus, those who hunted them were long gone before reaching the two men. The Warden and his recruit left a bloody trail of corpses as they traveled further south, down to the famed Tevinter fortress of Ostagar.

Hadrian's eyes widened at the sight of the impressive fortress. Made out of stone and toil, Ostagar had definitely earned its namesake. It meant Stone Wall in ancient Ferelden and for a brief minute, the young recruit felt a flutter of hope that maybe this Blight could be ended here. If so, then he could find Fergus and both would take out Arl Howe and reclaim their lost House.

They were approaching the causeway of Ostagar when a group of three men accosted them. Hadrian had recognized the young King from a far distance, his golden armour easily recognizable by any noble and peasant. His face fell at the sight of his once companion and he flushed slightly when the King looked at him knowingly. However, he remembered all too well the way his affair ended, with bitter words and a broken heart. He seethed with rage at how these events occurred, how they happened only to him.

The King, as young and seemingly tactless as any twenty old would be, thankfully said nothing of that time. He merely gripped Duncan's forearm in a strong grasp that stayed far longer than necessary. If his guards had any opinions of that moment they kept it to themselves.

"Duncan! It's good to see you!"

"Your majesty! I did not expect this. Aren't you supposed to be in Denerim, planning from afar?"

"What? And miss all this excitement?"

Duncan sighed heavily. He already had a bad feeling about this and the King being here worsened his fears. _If the King falls, then the throne of Denerim would be vacant and open to any aspiring noble unless…_

"You look familiar," the King addressed the man standing quietly beside the Grey Warden. Hadrian knew that this was only a cover-up and he couldn't help but give a small smile when a memory dawned on the King's face. "Ah yes, you're Bryce's youngest son, Hadrian Cousland. If you are here for Fergus, you just missed him. However, I was expecting a much larger troupe than just you two. Where is Teryn Cousland? Has something happened?"

"Yes, your majesty," Duncan replied, watching the grief momentarily grip his young recruit before being replaced by seething rage. If it were anyone else watching though, it would appear as if Hadrian hadn't cared at all about his family, but Duncan knew it was just a mask. During their weeks of travel, Hadrian barely said a word about anything and if there were any questions to be asked about the Blight, they were kept quiet. Even his dog Regus made little noise, only barking or growling when food was near or if there were enemies still stalking after them.

"He is dead, as is my mother," Hadrian stated with a heavy heart. He hadn't wanted anyone to know of this for it would be easy for anyone to predict the death of a noble.

"What? How did this happen?"

"It was Arl Howe, that bastard who was my father's closest friend and advisor." Hadrian spat out vehemently, uncaring of the coarse language he used in front of a King. King Cailan's face became furious at the news and he stepped to the side, trying to compose himself before he lost his temper. _Arl Howe! He has disgraced his family's honourable name!_ He took a couple of deep breaths and decided on a plan.

"I promise you," Cailan said, turning to face his two guests. "Once we win this battle, I will gather my army and head north to Amaranthine, to make Howe pay for his deed. First thing first though, Duncan, I will be in a war meeting soon but I want to discuss something with you before that. Hadrian, it was good to see you have survived this tragic event. You are free to roam around camp and gather what supplies you may need."

Without further ado, he turned his back on them and headed for the causeway, his guards following closely behind him. Hadrian felt rather hot from this moment and he barely heard Duncan saying something to them. Once his head cleared, he regarded the Grey Warden and was told pretty much the same thing about roaming around the camp.

"There are other Grey Wardens here. I suggest you find Alistair, who can show you around and lead you to the other recruits. I have a meeting with King Cailan, but when you are ready, you should find me near the pyre."

Hadrian nodded to show his understanding of Duncan's instructions and he watched the Grey Warden also follow the King. Regus whimpered at the departure of the Grey Warden and Hadrian petted him.

"Well, my friend, let's find this Alistair," Hadrian murmured to his canine friend and he looked to the sky, marveling at how bright and blue it was, despite recent events.

-o0o-

Hadrian had found one recruit in his roams and the recruit appeared to be rather stupid and most unkempt. His locks of hair were in disarray and there was a condescending tone when the man spoke to him, as if he didn't' recognize a Cousland.

"So _you're_ the new recruit Duncan's been talking about. We were waiting ages for you lot to come through."

"Errm…yes…" _Should I tell him that he is speaking to a noble, a Cousland nonetheless?_ _No, I don't wany anyone's pity…_ "Do you know where I can find Alistair?"

"Who? Oh yeah, Alistair was last seen in the old temple, talking to some mage. I guess, no one can escape from being a Templar, even if he is a Grey Warden now." There was a hint of spite in the other recruit's voice and Hadrian guessed that the man disliked Templars, although he didn't know why. Templars were there to protect the Mages and protect the citizens of Ferelden should those Mages turn into abominations. Maker forbid him that he should have to face one of those!

"Well, I'll be going. It was good meeting you," Hadrian said to the other man, shaking his hand. Daveth said likewise and Hadrian started for the old Temple.

The Old Temple was rather large and he had no idea of where this Alistair could possibly be. Daveth had said he was last seen here but the man gave no specific location. He then heard voices arguing with each other and decided that one of them must belong to Alistair.

When he reached the top of the raised platform, he expected two things: a Mage and a Grey Warden at least as old as Duncan. The Mage was checked off his list of expectations but the Grey Warden was another issue altogether. One, the young Warden bore a startling resemblance to King Cailan but there was no way those two were even remotely related. Two, the man was a Templar and he was delivering a message from a Revered Mother to the tall, dark-skinned Mage, a man who towered over the poor messenger by a few inches at the least. Last but not least, Alistair was younger in appearance and bearing. Hadrian could tell that the man had trouble with his confidence, easily seen by the slight slump of the shoulders and the way the man carried himself. This was a Grey Warden? An unconfident Templar who could be mistaken for Cailan from a distance?

"Look, I'm just delivering a message from the Revered Mother. No need to get testy and flustered."

"The King wished our presence and the Chantry has no control over us here. We will speak _after_ the battle."

The Mage left in a huff and Alistair sighed. He truly wished the Revered Mother hadn't put him up to this. This new life was supposed to get him as far away from the Chantry's reach as possible. Clearly, the reach of the religious organization was longer than perceived. There was a soft cough and his eyes lightened on seeing the newest recruit.

"You know, there's one good thing about the Blight, and it's how it brings all sorts of people together."

"Too true," was the curt reply and Alistair winced. He hadn't thought that the newest member would be so bitter about being recruited for the Blight. Maybe it would have been better to have a female recruit….

"I'm Alistair by the way and you, you must be Duncan's newest recruit. The name…" Hadrian was amused to see Alistair screw his eyes in shut in trying to remember his name. _Not only is this man an immature, bumbling Templar, but also a forgetful one! Good thing he's easy on the eyes_.

"The name's Hadrian."

A hand was offered and Alistair took it in a firm grip of his own. Both men were slightly startled when they felt something, an electrifying sensation in the handshake. They hastily retrieved their own hands and an awkward silence took place. Finally, Alistair, not one to stay quiet for too long, had to say something to break this awkward moment.

"Well, it's getting late. Have you met with the others?"

"Daveth only. I haven't seen the others."

"Ah, well. Let's go and see Duncan. Jory and Daveth should be there. Lead on, Hadrian."

Hadrian naturally took the lead, with Alistair following closely behind him.

They found Duncan and the others standing by the large bonfire, perhaps too closely. Duncan looked pleased to see the pair of them arrive and he started to proceed in telling them of their quest. The others accepted the quest as if it was an everyday chore for them but Hadrian had a couple of questions, more particularly on the Joining Ritual.

"If we don't find these Warden treaties, what do we do next?"

"I'm certain that you will find them. No one has been to the watchtower in several centuries. Also, there will be plenty of Darkspawn for you to retrieve the three vials of blood from. Alistair and the others will follow your lead into the Wilds. Take care not to be long for the King wants to start preparing at first light."

"Yes, we will be back soon."

-TBC-

PS: Ok, I thought of an another idea. Because our lovely Wardens are virgins (woo!), who will come out on top? Since I already have a poll going on that will determine who will be Fergus' soulmate, review and pick your poison, I mean, man. :D

Alistair: Pick me! Me!

Hadrian (growling and tackling Alistair to the ground): You will submit to me and only me!

May the best man win! :)


	14. Wolf's Journey: Eve of Battle

Legend:

Cailan – 24

Duncan – 34

Alistair – 19

Hadrian – 20

_blah_ thought

_**blah**_ Archdemon speaking

**blah** High Lord of the Wolves speaking

_/blah/_ another voice speaking in Hadrian's head.

4th hour to the Moon – eight o'clock pm

A/N: Cailan is actually smarter than he is depicted in the game, so beware of some OOC on his part. Other than that, enjoy the extremely long chappie. :D

Chapter 14: Eve of Battle

The group didn't return until later that evening, disheveled and shaken.

Daveth and Jory shouted in relief at the sight of the gates and they ran off ahead of the other two. Hadrian leaned against the gate, panting heavily.

His eyes closed and the darkspawn would be there to greet him. He had never seen such horrible creatures before and they ambushed them so effectively as well. If it weren't for Alistair and his heightened senses, the entire group would have been felled by hideous beasts in the Kacori Wilds.

The darkspawn weren't the only dangers either. Tainted wolves had roamed around the vicinity, bringing death to those near it. The wolves seemed to recognize Hadrian, however, and they had never attacked him outright. Rather, they focused on Alistair and Jory, sensing that if they could draw the attention of the two main warriors away, then the weakest one would be easily dealt with. Hadrian was confused by all this and when he killed the Alpha wolf, there was something expressed in those dying eyes, a sign of relief perhaps and then a voice saying thank you.

He never had wolves talk to him, not even the ones running around the Breckland Woods that surrounded his family's castle like a defensive moat. It didn't do much against Howe's men that night though. Perhaps he just wished for it to talk to him or maybe that he was going insane due to that pact made in his childhood.

After defeating the wolves and several groups of darkspawn, they had met with a very beautiful maleficar, Morrigan.

While others were clearly smitten with her at the same time as being deathly afraid of the witch of the wilds, he was not. Something inside him warned him that she had ulterior motives in them. He thought he felt something or rather someone was watching them when they were exploring the area for the vials and the Treaties. His senses tingled when her presence hovered at the edge of his periphery vision, disappearing whenever he tried to pin her down directly.

If Morrigan was bad, especially in her biting insults, her mother was infinitely worse with her sick sense of humor. No wonder her own daughter was so caustic in her remarks. She inherited it from her mother. /_She's an abomination/_. A voice had whispered in his head. /_She's dangerous. Be wary of her./_

Flemeth riveted her attentions on him all of a sudden but Hadrian didn't flinch. He'd been through a lot in one month than what most people had experienced in their lifetime. She walked towards him and cupped his cheek with her hand, the way a mother would do to a child. Now, he had flinched. The coldness of her hands seeped into his core and he _felt_ her try to talk to him, to the voice inside his head. All she received was silence and then she too was rudely kicked out of whatever she was trying to enter.

He earned a very cold glare for that and a cryptic remark. _Is it fate or chance that we've met? _What did she mean by that? If it was up to him, he wouldn't have wanted to meet her at all.

Alistair watched his friend's eyebrows furrow in concentration and he grew concerned when his friend still hadn't moved from his leaning position. He took a few steps closer to the man and he could hear panting, almost wheezing noises emitting from the man in front of him. Was he ok? Had he gotten injured somehow?

He focused on using his newfound Grey Warden senses but when he did, he was shocked to discover that Hadrian's aura felt tainted indeed, but its origin was not that of the darkspawn. Should he tell Duncan about this? It doesn't matter. Duncan had went through a lot to get three recruits out of the possible nine he could have had.

All of the Wardens had a dark secret they were hiding or running away from. His was more of a political one and the only one who knew it was Duncan himself. He had always worried how the other Wardens would react if they found out about his true heritage. For some reason, he was completely terrified if Hadrian ever found out. Why though? Why did he care if a random stranger found about him?

"Why are you standing so close to me," a voice asked of him, "Alistair?"

Alistair blinked and realized that he was indeed standing very close to him, only centimeters separated them.

"Oh, I..." he was at a loss of words for once. The great Alistair was never at a loss of words. He always had something to say, something to joke about. "Well, since you were wheezing so loudly, I thought I would give you a pat on the back." The joke sounded forced, unnatural. Hadrian's body tensed even more and he was pushed away, gently but firmly.

"Thank you." Hadrian gave him a weak smile. "But I'm ok, really. Just shaken is all."

"It was your first time fighting them, wasn't it?"

Alistair understood now. Yes. Perhaps Hadrian was just scared. He himself crapped in his pants upon encountering his first lot of darkspawn.

Hadrian nodded numbly. Then the man pulled away from Alistair and he walked forwards in an even gait, as if nothing was wrong with him at all.

They found the other two standing with Duncan by the pyre. Daveth was talking with Jory quite animatedly, his hands making wild motions as if he was trying to persuade the Knight of Redcliffe of something. When they got closer to the talking pair, it was to the conversation about the possibilities of the Joining and what it actually entailed. Duncan, to his credit, just stared into the fire for a few more minutes before turning his attention to the final pair.

"All of you are here now. I heard that the mission was successful."

"Yes. However, we ran into two Witches of the Wild." Hadrian reported to the taller man.

"Witches of the Wild?" Duncan asked.

Alistair came to stand by Duncan and explained at how they came to meet the two Witches. The young Cousland became amused when he heard Alistair's voice strain itself in the telling that they could have been maleficars, hiding from the Templars. Once a templar, always a templar. That's what Daveth had said before. Apparently it was still true, even if the elder Warden hadn't taken the final vows.

Duncan, after finishing admonishing his younger companion in a fatherly way, regarded him and there was a question of whether he was ready for it, ready for the final step in becoming a Grey Warden.

"Let's just get this over with," Hadrian sighed out his reply. He was only doing this for his father though and once they were done with this blasted Blight, his next target wouldn't be darkspawn but Howe himself.

-o0o-

It felt like a dream, almost. As Hadrian walked behind Alistair, heading towards the Old Temple, his thoughts began to wonder. He hadn't found Fergus yet and concluded that he either ventured further than the area they had explored or had turned back but got lost on the way. _Or he's dead. Just like mum and dad._ He stopped in his tracks at the thought and his fists clenched tightly, his fingernails imprinting crescents in the slick palms. No, Fergus had to be alive. He can't be the only survivor of the Cousland family. He just can't be. That would be too cruel.

"Hadrian?"

Hadrian looked up only to find Alistair gazing at him in touching concern. For some reason, those eyes relaxed him and his fists relaxed. He couldn't answer the Warden; the grief was just too near, too fresh for him to relay the events. Instead, he continued walking up the marble steps and came upon the two men still bickering again. They were just as bad as a married old couple arguing over matters of finance and children.

"Look, you don't think this is too suspicious? Why would they not tell us what the Joining is?" Jory's arms were crossed over his chest and there was an unhappy scowl on his broad face.

Daveth was again standing in front of him and his face was earnest as he tried to beseech to the taller warrior that there was probably a very good reason behind the secrecy of the Joining.

"I would give anything to stop the Blight, anything," Daveth said in a determined tone.

"You may lose everything," Hadrian commented, "to stop the Blight." Both men stood up to face the newcomer and they almost felt ashamed to have him see their bickering. Daveth had the decency to blush slightly while Jory just looked away, his eyes staring angrily at the pillars that held the temple up. If they held any answers to their predicament, they wouldn't tell even Jory and he made a sound of frustration.

Luckily, the tension that started from the waiting ended with the presence of the man who had recruited them. He strode into the area, giving off such a commanding aura that the two bickering man merely stared at the man.

"And so it has begun," he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Alistair, please recite the words that have always preceded this ritual."

Hadrian heard Alistair clear his throat nervously before saying,

"Join us, Brothers and Sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day, we will join you."

The words echoed in the empty hallway of the Old Temple and Hadrian felt very cold. Duncan thanked Alistair for it and he reached out for a large, silver goblet with his hands. There was a distinct smell emanating from the goblet and it was the smell of blood. Darkspawn blood. Almost immediately, nausea surged in his body and it was with great difficulty that Hadrian managed to keep his lunch from coming back up.

Daveth was the first person to drink from it and Hadrian watched with shocked eyes at how a man could die from drinking. It wasn't anything spectacular. Rather, it was rather undignified. The rogue just hunched over as if in great pain and emitted a gurgling sound before collapsing on the stoned floor, unmoving

If Daveth's death was undignifed, Jory's death was cowardly but it was nonetheless horrifying and sad. Hadrian had a feeling that it would come down to this and it was why he never bothered to learn about his temporary comrades. To find out that Jory had a wife and a baby on the way in this manner just made it even harder for Hadrian to see Duncan impale him with his dagger. True, Jory had reached for his sword first but the attack from Duncan was brutal and swift, without mercy.

He coolly observed how Duncan wiped the blood off almost nonchalantly, as if he didn't care that he killed his own recruit. The cup was then offered to him and Hadrian saw that despite Duncan's relaxed posture, his hand still hovered near the hilt of his dagger, ready to strike if Hadrian went in the same path as Jory had taken. With that in mind, Hadrian lifted the goblet up in his hands and his eyes screwed shut as thick liquid ran down his throat. The same nauseating sensation he had before intensified and he almost regurgitated the blood back into the goblet. Dear Maker, this stuff was awful. It was no wonder Daveth died. He died from this Maker awful beverage he was forced to drink.

He took a sip and unwillingly swallowed, wincing at how the thick honeyed liquid flowed into his stomach. At first nothing happened. Then there was a buzzing sound and Duncan's voice sounded very far away, However, the ambient sounds sharply came into focus until they overwhelmed his senses.

Hadrian expected some pain but not this agony that ripped through his mind and soul. His body felt as if it was on fire and the old Temple with its two Wardens dissolved into something dark and frightening. A loud roar echoed distantly and it increased with each passing second, as if he was getting closer to it or maybe it was the other way around. Winds buffeted around him and his eyes widened at the sight of a black, hideous dragon landing before him, its cold black eyes gazing at him. Hadrian could see that the eyes held no love for him or any creature as it were.

_**I see you, you can't hide from me**_

Its mouth opened and there was death in its maw. The dragon's head struck for him, as quickly and deadly as an Amaranthine viper. He tried to move but fear paralyzed him. How in Maker's hell is he supposed to fight this? He bore no weapons, not even a flimsy stick to defend himself.

Then something weird happened, not that this was weird enough by itself.

A blue glow emanated between Hadrian and the dragon. Hadrian watched in fascination as the glow then reshaped itself into a form of a wolf. _That's the same one I saw at the Clearing! _

It was indeed, except this time, it was solid and no longer transparent. The Wolf was also bigger, much bigger than Hadrian himself and its size rivaled that of the Archdemon's.

**I have already claimed him. You cannot touch him**.

A tenor voice reverberated and Hadrian felt a sense of possession coming from the wolf. A possession of him. There was a sound of wind brushing against poorly-made metal, but the young Cousland realized that it was the dragon's laughter, harsh and jarring.

_**Little wolf, you cannot halt this man's destiny. It is against the will of the Old Gods, of the Maker Himself**_.

**You forget yourself, Urthemiel. The taint has claimed you; you no longer hold power over us**

_**If he doesn't survive the Joining, then he will be lost forever and the world will burn for all eternity**_.

There was a moment of silence and Hadrian thought that the wolf may be contemplating on just letting the dragon claim him. The wolf's head was bowed down, not out of submission Hadrian observed, but in deep thought.

**The Maker himself has chosen this one; I will say it once again, you cannot claim him**.

The dragon snarled at the wolf's stubbornness in not letting him claim the human and he made to strike at him, only to disappear into cold darkness.

Hadrian's mouth hung open in astonishment at the power struggle played out between the two entities and he couldn't help but step back when the wolf gazed at him, its blue eyes fixed intently on him.

**Hadrian Cousland. I am the High Lord of the Wolves**.

"How'd you know my name?"

**I have watched over your family for many generations.**

"So then, what father told me is true," Hadrian replied. "I had always thought it to be bedtime stories as a child."

The High Lord smirked at him, or at least what counts as a smirk for a wolf. The corners at the lips turned and sharp teeth were bared. The Cousland couldn't help but shudder at the sight of those enormous canines, the sharp, serrated teeth that were lined neatly in the wolf's mouth.

**Humans are such funny little creatures.**

"What do you mean by claiming me? I am not some thing to be possessed."

Although he was glad for the wolf's intervention, Hadrian still held the pride of a noble and he found that the prospect of being considered a possession by anyone unsettling.

**For now, I will let the taint take hold of you. Urthemiel is unfortunately right and if you die here, then the world you know will be lost forever. However, when the time is right, all debts will be repaid.**

The High Lord's voice echoed eerily around him and the wolf began to lose its form, dissipating into the dark abyss.

"What debts?" Hadrian shouted, reaching for the vanishing form of the High Lord.

**You will find out in due time**

It was as if only the wolf's presence kept the darkness at bay. Immediately following its departure, darkspawn suddenly reappeared and began to press their advantage against Hadrian, trapping him in a tight circle edged by crude, rudimentary weapons. He could clearly see their faces now, the blackened eyes with no pupils, the pale skin that had been left out from the sun for too long. Some had stitches across their cheeks, as if someone tried to piece patches of skin together and not wholly succeeding in it looking aesthetic. Although it wasn't the first time he'd seen the darkspawn face-to-face, it still shook him to the core and the feeling of nausea rose up in his throat.

In the background, he saw the familiar massive form of the Archdemon and its roar deafened him.

_**Kill him. Let the Warden experience of what we know of death.**_

It whispered to the horde surrounding him and Hadrian was helpless to do anything, maybe except scream.

-o0o-

Alistair saw the man's eyes open and, despite seeing this multiple times, was shocked to see the whites of the man's eyes. There was a bone-chilling scream and Alistair found himself stepping forward to catch the slumping man. The man was heavier than he looked but the Grey Warden managed to balance his weight with that of his friend before slowly easing him to the ground. Hadrian moaned at being manhandled but did not attempt to move out of Alistair's strong hold.

"He has passed the test, but this reaction is," Duncan paused for a moment. No, Garahel had a similar reaction. The famous elven Warden was the only one to have survived his Joining and his reaction was so bad that it had to be documented by the Warden Scriber at Anderfals. He recalled the exact description of it:

_Garahel, son of Ecthlion and Starrunner, was the only survivor. He developed a high fever and could not be awaken for a week. Like the other Grey Wardens who had died, his body would twitch as if he was fighting the darkspawn. Upon waking, much has changed that not even his family of the Wardens could recognize him. Little be it known that he was destined to slay Andoral._

"Duncan? He's getting hotter by the minute; we should do something. Get a mage or two."

"Take him to your tent and I will talk to Wynne."

The older Grey Warden watched Alistair pick up the senseless initiate and then headed back to the Mages camp, where Wynne was staying. Out of the three he managed to recruit, only one survived.

Months before tonight, he had spent much of his time trying to recruit promising members for the Wardens. Ozammer was the closest city to him when he traveled southward with his Wardens, having come from Orlais on the First Warden's command to aid the King of Ferelden. By this aid, the First Warden had hoped to regain a foothold in the eastern kingdom of Ferelden. Commander Sophia's exile had cost the Wardens in Anderfels dearly and the First Warden worried that if a Blight ever started in Ferelden, then the Kingdom would have been lost to the world forever. The dwarves were already a lost cause for someone had already murdered Brosca Aeducan, the King's own daughter framed for the murder of one of the brothers. The other dwarf, a commoner, had won the Proving Grounds but lost against a shadowed blade. By the time Duncan got there, he was already dead, his body turning cold as the Warden knelt at his side.

Having been in Ozammer far too long than necessary, Duncan decided that he could kill two birds with one stone if he split his group of Wardens into two. He took Alistair and two others with him on an excursion to the Circle of Magi while the second group of more experienced Wardens left for the Brecilian Forest. With recruits in tow, they were to meet in Denerim.

Unfortunately, it didn't work well at all to Duncan's sore disappointment. At the Circle of Magi, Loren Amell had run off with his lover, Jowan, not wanting to stay imprisoned. Duncan had to admit that though blood magic was ruthless and rife with demon deals, it was extremely practical against the Templars. Even a Grey Warden could succumb to the power of blood magic. By the time he came to, the pair had already escaped from the prison and with their phylacteries destroyed, the Templars had no way in tracking them down.

The second group had no such luck either in their recruitment. When they arrived at a Dhalish camp, they were met with whitesteel arrows pointing in their direction. It was only thanks to one of the Wardens, Riea Yyvane, a Dhalish elf herself, that the Wardens weren't shot at in the first few minutes of entering the camp. The Keeper had informed them that they lost two of their best hunters already and with the increasing periods of unwelcomed visits by shemlans, they were leaving at first light, no matter what the situation was.

Thus, the two groups met in Denerim, tired and their Commander being increasingly frustrated with the way things were going for him. It was by sheer luck that Duncan remembered he had one person left he could possibly recruit. He was helping out the city elves in the elven alienage when seeing the silver-haired elder reminded him of the Champion of the Summermere Tournament four years ago. Alistair had no trouble remembering the name and it was he who suggested that he attempt in beseeching the Couslands for Hadrian, even though there was a very good chance of Bryce denying him that. Duncan knew that he could always invoke the Right of Conscription if it came to that, but it would have been a political blunder on the Wardens. The First Warden would certainly not be happy if they were exiled out of Ferelden again just because of a mishap with one of the oldest Teryns.

He barely managed to get to the Cousland Castle in time and had wanted to talk to Bryce alone, without Howe being present and watching with those cold, calculating eyes. Despite the stories of his and Bryce's famous plight from the White River Battle and their subsequent friendship, there were rumors, both concrete and unfounded, about Howe's strange hobbies, such as collecting magical artifacts and dabbling in the Dark side of magic, where demons were irrevocably involved. Of course, none had dared to step forward with these accusations and it left Howe to his devices, letting him work uninterrupted.

Perhaps it was fate that Howe massacred the entire Cousland family. Duncan knew deep down that Bryce wouldn't have given up his son without a fight and there could have been a permanent rift between the Wardens and the oldest House in all of Ferelden if he invoked the Right of Conscription. The First Warden was not known for his forgiveness and Duncan wished to not be the guinea pig if he had failed in his mission. Thus, only once, Duncan was glad for Howe's action because Hadrian was recruited, albeit unwillingly and with vengeance in his heart.

As he watched Alistair descend down the white marble steps, he noticed that there was a faint blue aura outlining their figures and felt that those two would just get along fine without him, as long as they had each other. It was odd to feel like this, especially when he hadn't known Hadrian for very long, at least not as long as he'd known Alistair. But somehow, he knew for certain that the future of Ferelden rested on those young shoulders and he prayed to the Maker for their success in defeating the Blight.

-o0o-

Wynne came by so quickly that Alistair barely managed to lay his charge down before she entered the tent. Duncan was right behind her and stayed at the front of the tent, more for keeping out unwanted intruders like other Templars and Loghain than for overseeing a mage's duty.

She settled down next to him and examined her patient. His face was rather colourless and there was a fine sheen on his forehead. He had no other visible injuries, so it must be in the man's mind.

"It appears that this man is fine physically, but his mind is somewhat clouded with conflict and grief."

"It is probably the Taint trying to corrupt him," Alistair quipped lightly as he watched the Mage place one hand on the man's bare chest and the other on his forehead. He wanted Hadrian to pass the ritual, but not like this, never like this. At least with himself he had just fainted and woke up a few hours later, being tended to by one of the Mages in Jader.

Wynne was too focused on her task to heed Alistair's opinion and the Grey Wardens waited in anxious silence. After what seemed hours to the pair, she finally opened her eyes and Alistair saw the strain around her eyes and lips. Apparently whatever she had found had stressed even an experienced Mage.

"This man will be fine. I have given some of my energy to hasten the recovery process. When he wakes, give him this,"

A cold vial was placed in Alistair's hand and he looked at it suspiciously, not liking the dark clumps hidden within.

"They are deep mushrooms, Alistair, and not poisonous," Wynne remarked shortly and Alistair felt chagrined at being so open. "They will renew his stamina. I cannot heal what is not broken."

"Thank you Wynne. You have been most helpful," Duncan's voice rumbled and the Mage slowly got up, still feeling a little bit drained from her task.

Alistair heard her whisper something to Duncan but he couldn't quite make out the words. As quickly as she appeared in their tent, she left. Duncan laid a hand on his shoulder.

"He should be fine now; when he wakes, tell him to meet with me at the War Meeting. The King wishes to see him."

"Why?"

Alistair had never questioned Duncan's orders, at least not before meeting with this strange young man. The older Warden was taken aback by his question but he chuckled, figuring that it was about time his subordinate had a mind of his own.

"King Cailan wanted to see you too, Alistair, but as it were, the Battle for Ostagar comes first before family. He-"

" He can speak for himself, Duncan," another voice interrupted him and both men were surprised to see the young King entering the tent. "Duncan, could you give us a moment? I wish to talk with Alistair, alone."

"Yes, your majesty, but please don't leave Loghain waiting too long. Who knows what a mad dog will do when his Master is absent."

The King let out a soft chuckle and, to Alistair's astonishment, gave Duncan a light peck on the cheek before the latter walked out with a slight blush on his cheeks.

"So, you and Duncan then?"

"Yes but Anora doesn't know. Nor will she ever."

"Did you know this man before?" Alistair's eyes darted briefly in the direction of the sleeping man before returning back to face those of his half-brother's.

"Yes, although he was younger and happier back then." _Before I ended the relationship at father's behest._

Cailan deliberately did not mention that the new Warden and he were intimate at one point in time. As eager as he is to welcome his half-brother back, he was just as eager to withhold some secrets to himself. Alistair did not need to know the hidden aspect of their relationship and he certainly did not want to be there when his half-brother does find out.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not here just to chitchat?" Alistair was rather angry with this favoured son of King Maric and he couldn't help but feel some resentment at their obvious division.

"You're right. I'm not here to chitchat. However, I wish to convey both my regrets and that of my father's. Our father's."

"Why now?" The Grey Warden was confused as to the timing of his younger half-brother's apology. It had been more than a decade since the incident and Cailan was apologizing to him now, after all these years.

The young blonde's confident posture suddenly slumped, as if a great weight was placed on his shoulders. He should have known that this would happen, this awkwardness between the estranged brothers. He himself had always wondered why Alistair wasn't at the Palace anymore. Whenever he expressed his concerns at the absence of his brother, his father would only give him a sad look and then move on to something else. He wanted to ask Loghain but there was a feeling that the truth would be twisted by this advisor. He had never trusted his father's advisor, more especially after his father's death. It was so sudden, so unpredictable that Cailan truly believed there was foul play involved even though there was no evidence.

"To put it simply, Alistair, it was Loghain who advised Maric in not visiting you. Father never told me this in person. Before he passed into the Fade, he bequeathed me certain items, those that should not fall into Loghain's hands. Loghain was a trustworthy person but he is too involved in politics now, especially when he himself is very close to the throne."

"So why are you telling me this? To burden me with more crap? I'm already dealing with enough as it is being a Grey Warden and all."

The Grey Warden's voice was ripe with venom and Cailan was taken aback by Alistair's furious scowl. _Maybe this was a bad idea. I shouldn't have confided in him…my own brother_.

Alistair sighed at seeing the distraught look on the young King's face. The time of resentment was over and at least the King was trying to make up for lost time.

"Forgive me, my King. It's just…"

There were no words suitable for him to describe his suffering and he definitely did not want to look a desperate fool in front of his half-brother. Cailan laid a hand on Alistair's shoulder and then embraced him tightly. At first, Alistair didn't do anything except stand there, with his arms stiff at his side. Slowly, however, he brought them around his brother and hugged him, trying to convey what he could not say into the hug. It must have been well received for Cailan pulled back with a small smile on his face.

"Here are a couple of things that I think you should have, Alistair."

A folded piece of parchment and a small amulet were placed in the Warden's hand. Alistair looked down at them, astonished to receive such a girly item from his brother. Cailan must have caught his expression and there was a light laugh.

"The amulet was our father's. He said it had our mother's locks of hair in it. One from the serving maid and one from my mother."

"I-no, you should keep this."

The Warden attempted to return the amulet but Cailan shook his head and closed Alistair's hand over the items.

"Don't read the parchments until the time is right. Until after the battle. But time's a wasting and Loghain is probably going mad over my tardiness."

Cailan gave Alistair one last hug and then exited the tent. When he left though, his shoulders were less slumped and his posture straightened, as if to bear himself in a regal manner in public. Alistair knew better though and he hoped that there would be more discussions between them after the fight. True to his words, he tucked the items into a small pouch that was then hidden away near his right breastplate. He was musing over the recent conversation when he heard a soft moan and some rustling of the blankets.

-o0o-

Hadrian heard voices murmuring softly in the background. He recognized both but the King had already left the tent when he opened his eyes. A dark brown ceiling greeted him and a face moved into his line of vision.

"Hadrian, you're awake. Thank goodness."

The young Warden groaned and he attempted to sit up. He felt so drained of energy, so tired that he couldn't sit up by himself. Alistair's arm reached around him to support his back and some strange mushroom was offered to him.

"Wynne said to take these. Your stamina would be recovered if you eat three of these."

The mushrooms were innocent in appearance but Hadrian had vowed never to eat these every again unless he was dying. The bitterness of them cut through the foggy haze and the aftertaste made him slightly nauseous. Luckily, the feelings of nausea faded, followed by a strange lift of his lethargy and his mind cleared, his body feeling like it could run miles again.

Alistair was pleased to see the colour come back to Hadrian's face and he grinned at the grimace that appeared on his face. Apparently, these mushrooms really were foul-tasting. No wonder his Wardens refuse to take them, even if they were slowing down in a fight.

"You try them, Alistair," Hadrian grumbled and he swallowed some water that the Templar had offered him next. "Gahh! I'll never eat those again."

"Let's hope not. Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah. What hour is it?"

"Not sure. Probably Fourth hour to the Moon. Duncan wants you at the meeting. The King already headed out so I'm sure you shouldn't linger in my tent any more than you should."

"Your tent? Why am I in your tent?"

Alistair shrugged his shoulders in answer but Hadrian was too tired to entice an answer out of him. Instead he slowly got out of bed and gathering what few things he had, proceeded to follow in the King's footsteps.

The War meeting had already started and Hadrian saw both the King and another person hunch over a large map, probably of Ostagar. Duncan was standing to the side and he appeared to have noticed him before everybody else.

"Hadrian, you are in time. Come,"

The senior Grey Warden motioned for Hadrian to approach the table, where the advisor and the King were arguing.

"You will place your unit here, four hundred feet away from the front. They will wait for the signal to charge the Darkspawn."

"Your highness, it is too dangerous for you to be playing hero out in the frontlines, with the Darkspawn out there," the stranger advised in a measured tone but Hadrian could tell he was getting frustrated with the blonde King.

The nobleman, upon approaching the two, recognized that face, with its long nose and eyes that sat too deeply. The hawkish appearance painted in several portraits at the Cousland Castle did the Hero of River Dane some kindness. In actuality, the dark brown eyes and the Roman nose portrayed Loghain in an unfriendly appearance. His high cheekbones, which would have looked nice on any other person, stood out too much and his lips were pursed tightly. Overall, Hadrian liked the heroic portraits of Loghain better than the actual person. At least, in the illustrations, Loghain looked friendlier and more dashing. The advisor was clad in high quality armour, burnished silver with streaks of blue across the shield that was on his back. The sword he carried impressed Hadrian, with its astounding length of 2 feet and its hilt gilded in black leather. Of course, Loghain, being a tall man, had to have a sword in proportionate to his height. Thus, if the person wasn't much to look at, at least the armor and weapons made up for it.

The King, on the other hand, was dressed in golden armor, the face of a dragon emblazoned on the front of his breastplate. He, unlike Loghain, did not carry a shield but a very large sword with such a wide girth that Hadrian knew it had to be wielded with two hands, not just one. It was apparent to Hadrian that the King was indeed a man of strength for two-handed weapons required a lot of strength training and the skill to wield it expertly. _No wonder his hands were…_

The thought was sharply cut off for this was not the time or place for such a thing. The Cousland focused on what the two were saying and he observed that there was tension between the King and his advisor.

"Hello, Grey Warden." The King addressed the man standing patiently behind the two. Loghain immediately stiffened but made no move against Hadrian.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"King Cailan, I can still send my men to the Tower of Ishal. They will light the beacon." Loghain continued his case, although it was very unconvincing. "The Wardens-"

"I will have you know who is King, Loghain. My decision is final: the two Wardens will light the beacon at the Tower of Ishal, not your men. Then, it will be such a glorious battle, the King fighting with the Grey Wardens once more."

"Yes, let us hope it will be a glorious battle."

Hadrian disliked the tone of Loghain's voice and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something's not right here and I have a feeling he is at the centre of it all. Unfortunately, voicing such a concern would only worsen the situation between the War Council members and the Grey Wardens. Loghain had already voiced his opinion on the presence of the Grey Wardens and refused to acknowledge them even if the King did. It was very clear to Hadrian to determine who really wanted to be king and the young Warden made a mental note on keeping a close eye on this fabled hero of River Dane.


	15. Wolf's Journey: Fallen

A/N: I'm sorry for any confusion about the ages. The ones mentioned in the last chapter are official now. Since we know basically what's going to happen at the Battle of Ostagar, I skipped a fairly big junk of it and focused on the end of it. So, umm, spoilers up ahead!

**Review responses**:

**Aki**: I've taken your suggestion into consideration but will not list it here as I want it to be a surprise for other readers. Also, it looks like Alistair is going to top this contest (pun intended :D). I'll drop hints about the little boy in Hadrian's dream as well as his appearance under the moonlight in later chapters.

**YoshisSupport**: I love challenges. They spice things up a bit. Besides, Alistair can be quite dominant if he's been hardened in the game. Now, that's hawt! Now, about the whole possession thing with the High Lord, hmmm, it wasn't meant to be perverted. With Alistair though, that's a whole another story.

**KafeiDetour**: I'm really glad that my readers out there like the story. Now, I just wish they were not so shy in telling me so. I don't bite.

**Anonymous: ** Cailan is intended to be the older brother in the story. In chapter 11, in Cailan's memory, the young King sees Fiona holding her hand over her stomach in a _very_ protective way. Of course, the child in her womb is Alistair; however, Cailan doesn't know this until after Duncan tells him, when they are deeper in their relationship. In the previous chapter, he deliberately withholds some info such as who Alistair's true mom really is.

Thanks to the following _new_ readers:

FAVS: KafeiDetour, Anonymous, I-don't-like-pen-names, lcook93, The-After-Smoke

ALERTS: praswit, KafeiDetour, The-After-Smoke, Stormkeeper818, Sly Dalhousie, nevtanis

Chapter 15: Fallen

_Cailan, I fear that I've not much long until my Calling_.

Duncan closed his eyes as he tried to prevent tears from spilling out.

_I know, Duncan. And I promise that I'll be with you, till the end._

Yes, to the end. Duncan's hands trembled as they turned over the King's body and the Warden closed the unseeing eyes, those eyes once so full of life.

He cupped the King's face and felt the lingering warmth. At first, he thought that maybe the Maker had grant him a miracle, maybe Cailan wasn't dead yet.

However, those wounds of Cailan's, caused by a crushing hug from an ogre, granted immediate death, even with a healer around.

As of now, the screams of both men and darkspawn that became his constant companions in this battle told him that no such healer was to be found and they were alone in their demise.

He heard something and realized that the same ogre that had killed Cailan was now heading for him, its horns aimed at him.

The ogre had intended to charge at him, using the horns to impale him. No, he would avenge his lover's death at least and he would take that ogre down with him.

He laid his lover down gently and turned to the ogre. He leaped up to his feet and drew his daggers as he ran and then jumped unto the ogre's chest as the creature raised its head at the last minute, its horns barely missing the leaping body by a breadth of an inch.

Its head reared back as Duncan's daggers plunged deep into the exposed torso and it bellowed in anger as the little human climbed upwards before collapsing backwards with a blade of steel sticking in its throat.

It let out a wet gurgle as Duncan pulled the dagger back and its arms reached out to grab the insolent man only to fall back unto the ground a second later when the Warden stabbed him between the eyes, delivering a final blow.

The Warden's legs felt like jelly when he jumped from the ogre's body and he crawled towards the King's now cooling body. King Cailan still hadn't moved from his spot. His body laid in that same position where he left it to kill his murderer.

For some reason he wanted to look up, to look away from his lover's impassive face and his eyes sought out for the Tower of Ishbal.

There, the beacon had indeed been lit, the fires burning wildly into the smoke-drenched sky. But where were the reinforcements? Where were Loghain and his promised cavalry?

Then, it hit him even as he saw another horde of darkspawn running at him, its leader hurling a dagger at a man fighting another hurlock.

They had been betrayed.

Loghain, the hero of River Dane, had abandoned them on the field, just when Cailan had needed him most.

True, the numbers of the darkspawn would have eventually overwhelmed the King's meager Army but it hadn't lessened the hurt of betrayal.

His King, his lover had died for _nothing_ and there was nothing Duncan could do to stop the Darkspawn from defiling his lover's body.

As the Alpha Hurlock raised a two-handed axe in the air, Duncan thought of only two things, how proud he was of his Wardens that did their task and that he was going to see Cailan again, in the Fade.

The world suddenly brightened and the next time he blinked his eyes, he found himself looking into another pair of oh so familiar eyes, green mossy eyes that laughed back at him.

"Duncan," the figure in front of him breathed his name and Cailan kissed him.

Somehow he could still feel those soft lips on his. Were they still alive? Perhaps that had been a bad dream after all.

"Where-?" A finger shushed him and Duncan almost sobbed in relief when he was brought into a bear-crushing hug.

"We're together," Cailan said to him in a tender tone.

Cailan's hand took his and Duncan was awed to feel that he could still feel the warmth of his lover's hand.

When Cailan moved ahead of him, Duncan could see other people walking around and he realized that they were in the Fade.

"Are we? Have we passed over?" Duncan's question caused a sad smile to appear on the young King's face.

When he received a nod, disappointment bloomed. He had hoped to see his Wardens after the battle, to enjoy what time he had left with his handsome lover.

"Yes."

"I see. So that means, I'm dead too."

Cailan hadn't moved from Duncan's side. Instead he stepped closer to the confused Warden and then kissed him, passionately.

"Come, we've someone to see." Cailan pulled back and he started to pull on Duncan's hand.

"The Maker? He's here Himself?" Duncan wasn't sure if the Creator was here at all.

No one has ever seen the face of the Maker yet his presence was ubiquitous. Even the evil spirits were wary of their actions, acting like sneaky children trying not to be found out with their hands in the sweets jar.

"I don't know but it doesn't matter who it is, as long as I'm with you."

For the first time in a long while, Dunca felt truly happy and he followed his young lover as they traveled deeper into the Fade.

-o0o-

_ "_Damn, why isn't Loghain moving?" Alistair shouted angrily. He watched the horde of the darkspawn overwhelm the King's forces. Why wasn't Loghain moving forward? Where is he?

Hadrian's eyes narrowed when they espied on the moving forces of their enemies and he knew in his heart what a second betrayal felt like.

Before he could turn to tell his friend, there were the sounds of doors busting open and his eyes flew open in surprise as the darkspawn piled into the open space where they had just fought the massive ogre.

The archers aimed their arrows at them and they fired upon them.

Hadrian cursed when their only healer was taken down instantly, arrows sticking into him as if his body was a pin cushion.

His own dog was down and out for the count; blood matted his fur and Hadrian felt something break in him again. Alistair was still fighting, somehow escaping the first hail of arrows.

However, in his focus on shielding himself from death, he was unaware of an Alpha Hurlock coming at him, a bloodied sword in his hand.

Desperate to save his comrade, Hadrian ran towards him, What was this feeling? It felt like the same feeling of despair that he had when he had to leave his parents to their deaths. Only this time, he knew that if Alistair was gone, he would be gone too in a way. He had to save him! He had to!

Agony pierced his mind. Such agony he had never felt before! Not even the pain from the Joining could compare with this excruciating pain of death. Hadrian's mind shattered and the last thing he felt was the warm breath of Alistair.

Alistair felt someone pushing him down and he collapsed as the heavy weigh of an extra person bore down on him. He let out a scream as the Hurlock thrust a sword into the both of them, the force of the blow strong enough to pierce through armor, flesh and bone.

The senior Warden clutched at the sword with a bloody hand and pulled the hurlock towards them, all the while bringing his own blade up and digging into hurlock's neck.

"Fucking...hell..." Alistair spat and he rolled the body over as another blow came. When he turned them over and dispatched the enemy from above with a dagger in the eye, he was shocked to see Hadrian's slack face. _Hadrian! He saved me? But why?_

A loud roar interrupted this thought and he looked up only to scream in terror at the sight of the dragon flying above him. _Shit! The Archdemon here and now? _

The dragon bellowed out its roar and Alistair groaned as the winds buffeted around him momentarily before calming down.

The darkspawn were still attacking him and he tiredly brought up his shield to protect him and Hadrian only to have it be knocked away.

His shield clattered uselessly to the side and he let out a choked gasp as arrows thunked into his chest.

The last of the Wardens fell back haplessly and his last sight was that of the Archdemon's foot coming down upon him.

-TBC-

A/N: I just realized how reading a 9,000 word chapter can just really tire you out. So I decided to cut back on the chappies. Any comments, opinions, criticisms? Don't forget to vote for two things ur review:

1. who's top: Alistair vs. Hadrian

2. in a poll displayed on my profile: Fergus' sweetheart.


	16. Wolf's Journey: Swooping is not so bad

Review responses

**The-After-Smoke**: I was presented with a very tempting idea from **a kid** of Alistair being dominated by a wolfish Hadrian. Nosebleed! Then again, Alistair being the seme (top) is just as hawt if not hotter. Plus, as pointed out by **YoshisSupport**, it would be a challenge to write Alistair being the seme when he's just so unsure of himself in the beginning and matures as the game progresses.

**HollyIsMyName**: I'm sorry for the cliffie! I thought everybody knew that Alistair and the PC survive the Battle of Ostagar. I assume wrong. Forgive me? **Puppy dog eyes**. Anyhoo, oh yeah, Hadrian is all man and Alistair is going to find out just how manly he can be, both in and out of bed. While I have read stories of either a female Cousland paired with Alistair, I've yet to come across a slash story with a girly male Cousland partnered with Alistair. Maybe that's a good thing?

**a kid**: You know, that sounds very, very tempting to me. However, the general consensus is having Alistair as top. The sweet and hot smexy scene won't be available until after the Circle quest and some sidequests (looking at my outline), which won't be for another few chapters. I want to develop their relationship first as well as flesh everybody else too in terms of characterization. Soooo, for all my other readers, there's still time to vote. Please? :D

**YoshisSupport**: I managed to write this chappie in a few hours. Yay for that! Thanks for voting!

Thanks to those who voted and who read the story, both with pennames and anonymous! Happy reading!

Chapter 16: Swooping is (not so) bad

-o0o-

Flemeth had seen many things, both the profound and the terrible. In her long years of existence, she had seen men kill for power, for love, or just out of sheer boredom. Thus, the scene of chaos, of men dying and being cut to pieces by their victorious enemy, came of no surprise to her. In fact, she expected it.

She saw the King die by an Ogre's brutal hand and she felt the passing of the Warden, who perished by a Darkspawn's axe. She even saw a rather large army moving northwards, the men marching at uniform speed while the cavalry sprinted ahead, acting as a vanguard to the weary men following it. With her keen eyesight, she had no trouble perceiving the leader of the army as Teryn Loghain and her heart grew troubled as one of her prophecies came to past.

A young man manifested itself in her mind. He bore similar resemblance to the now recently deceased King and such as it should be. He was King Maric Theirin, son of Moira, the Rebel Queen. She recalled warning King Maric that a Blight would come to pass after his death and that Loghain would betray him. Being a young King at that time, he didn't truly heed her warnings and, thus, Ferelden will be torn asunder by Loghain's act. Fortunately for her though, it was all going according to plan.

However, the Wardens play a crucial role in her plan; more specifically, Alistair played a large role in her plan. She wasn't sure on Hadrian. He had managed to block her mental probing in their first encounter and she was immediately intrigued by it. No man had ever accomplished that before and she was determined to find the root of it. If all of the Wardens in Ferelden perished now, the plan she worked for over a century would come to null and a certain someone would be irrevocably implacable. An old God was certainly not a forgiving type and the price of her failure would be her soul.

Thus, it was with great haste that she managed to fly to the Tower of Ishbal. The darkspawn screamed and grunted at the sight of her; arrows were let loose but she merely shrugged them away with her powerful reptilian wings. Somehow these darkspawn were able to discern that she was _not_ the Archdemon. That also troubled her as did the sight of the two Wardens lying on the marble floor, once white but now a murky brown, stained by the blood of the dead.

They were dead, to all outward appearances but Flemeth sensed their life essence still flowing through their veins. _Good, they're still alive. I made it in time_. More darkspawn flooded the area, filling the room with their stench and their primitive sounds of communication. She knew that they were waiting for more ogres to barge their way in here and, while she was quite powerful, her magic was barred from her in her draconian form. She reared back and then roared out at them, a pillar of fire surging forth from her jaw and burning anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path. Before they could recover their numbers, she hastily plucked the slumped forms in her talons, careful to ensure that her claws wouldn't rip the fragile mortals in half while doing so. With their bodies safely in her grasp, her wings heaved around her, knocking her assailants down. The air, hot from her fire, was pushed down and she used it to propel herself into the smokey night.

Time was running out for her but her hut was close by the battlefield and she hoped that Morrigan, for once, did as she was told. It took her only half of a candlelight to reach her home and she found a small lady waiting for her outside the door. There was a particular loud expletive and Flemeth knew from the person's voice that it was indeed her daughter, Morrigan.

"Mother! Was that really necessary?"

Morrigan was referring to her breathing down on her, the smoke drifting from her nostrils and absolutely ruining her fresh laundered clothes.

"Yes, child," Flemeth had reverted back to her true form and she found her daughter's look of disgust quite amusing. It wasn't the first time Morrigan had seen injured men but she was still put off by the smell. She stepped a little bit closer to the unconscious pair and Flemeth heard her make a 'tsk' sound, as if she was berating her for bringing home garbage.

"I would never have thought I would see them again, especially this blubbering idiot." Morrigan bent down and grabbed the senior Warden's shoulders while Flemeth took hold of his ankles.

"You speak so coldly of him, child, yet you scarcely know him." Flemeth's voice strained a little bit as the two Witches, so unused to lifting deadweight, struggled to carry their precious cargo into the hut. With great care, they laid him out on a little makeshift cot that Morrigan had put together just before her arrival. Once Alistair was settled, they went outside and then returned with another man in tow.

Since he was the more injured of the two, they had placed him on a bigger bed, Flemeth's to be exact, and laid him facedown. Together they took the armor off the both of them and Flemeth's head shook in dismay at the mottled torso of Alistair, the arrowheads still embedded in his skin as well as the large gaping slash on Hadrian's back.

"Well, I'll heal the more serious ones. Boil some water and ready some bandages, please." Flemeth heard her daughter stand up and exit the room. The older woman's hands positioned themselves on Hadrian's back and she concentrated, focusing her mind on the healing level rather than the destructive level that she intended to lean more on.

The candle that had been lit upon her arrival was half gone by the time Hadrian's back healed up. Flemeth felt generous enough to heal it all the way, leaving unblemished skin. As much as she desired power, she also appreciated the beauty of life and knew that Hadrian was scarred enough as it is. A huge scar disfiguring him would not help much and she wanted to spare him of that. Mental scars were distracting enough.

Her patient groaned and he shifted underneath her hands, which were still pressed against his back. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked dazedly at her.

"Sleep, Hadrian. You are safe," she whispered to him, ready to incant a sleeping spell on him if necessary. It wasn't for Hadrian's eyes became half-mast at first and then shuttered closed. He was more anchored to this world and the temptation to uncover what secrets he was hiding from her increased exponentially. He was utterly defenseless now and she had to find out exactly who or what he is.

Her lips moved to resound another spell, the spell of Knowing and the room darkened slightly only to glow in silver blue light.

_Abomination, you are trespassing!_

The voice hissed at Flemeth but she was not intimidated by it. She persevered until her hands burned from Hadrian's body that suddenly grew very hot. She was almost there, almost done uncovering his secret! She found herself trying to edge her way into the man's unconscious mind but again, her efforts were thwarted by that same presence, the one from before.

_Asha'bellanar _

She gasped and her hands jolted from her body. She cradled her burnt hands gingerly and discovered that her wrinkled hands were more exposed now, the muscles glistening in the soft glow of the candle and the skin no longer holding its insides anymore. Who was that? None but the Keepers of the Dalish Clans knew that name!

She made a sound of frustration at being thwarted _again_. Maybe she would have more luck with Alistair. Unfortunately, the same force that protected Hadrian also hovered around Alistair and again, her true name sung out to her. The idea of just letting them die was too good to pass up but someone more powerful than her would do more than just kill her; it would torture her soul for eternity.

Not wanting to risk the wrath of either entities, she let it be for now and let fate dictate its own path with these two men.

-o0o-

_ Was this death? It was unusually warm and quite cozy. Alistair opened his eyes and he found himself lying against an old oak tree, its branches hanging over him like a protective layer from the sun. He let out a quiet gasp when he discovered that this was the same oak tree he would find refuge under when running away from Isolde's scorching words. Only that tree had weird pink flowers when in full bloom and this very same tree bore the same fruits._

_ The Warden was too busy marveling at the beautiful flowers that he failed to see an amused male sitting over him. A giggle echoed around the man and Alistair's eyes darted around before finally focusing on the owner._

_ "A boy? What, how did you get up there?"_

_Indeed, the branch the boy was sitting on had easily been at least six foot from the ground and it was the first branch to sprout from the thick trunk. Either this little boy was amazingly agile and could scale a trunk without any help or he just merely jumped up to it. Seeing how this could be a dream of his, Alistair opted for the latter. Anything could happen in a dream, including a twelve-year old male 'flying up' to where he was currently at._

_ "War is coming, child," the young boy warned him and Alistair marveled at how profound the boy's eyes looked. Despite his appearance as a young adolescent, its eyes were old, very old. To Alistair, it felt wrong to have this little boy call him a childe Maybe it was a Desire Demon trying to trick him into letting his guard down. Demons were notorious for preying on people in their dreams, often coming to them as people they know._

_ "How do I know you're not a Demon? Am I that important to warrant even a demon's interest?" He didn't think so. All his life, he thought himself unimportant, discarded like a useless piece of baggage. First his own father didn't want him and Arl Eamon, tired of taking care of a rambunctious little boy, had him sent to a monastery at his wife's behest. Now, even Duncan had left him alone, leaving him bereft of an understanding companion._

_ The boy gifted him with another knowing look before hopping down from the branch he was sitting on. He landed with ease and took Alistair's hand in his tiny one. Alistair watched the boy flip his hand over and drew a pattern in it._

_ "The fires are burning him, Alistair. It'll consume everything." As the boy murmured, the lazy pattern he etched into the Warden's hand glowed hotly and Alistair let out a shriek of pain before sighing in relief as the boy ran another finger over it, cooling his palm._

_ "Why'd you do that?" Alistair asked him and the boy withdrew his hand from him, an almost sheepish expression on that young face._

_ "Innocence is the first casualty of war," the boy whispered softly to him, "and thus shall he take his vengeance."_

"_Who? Who are you talking about?"_

_This little boy was getting irritating but Alistair was scared. He was scared that he might have pissed off the wrong demon of the Fade and now he was paying for it. Oh, the Maker certainly loved to pick on him._

_ "You choose your own path, Alistair Theirin," the boy called out to him, eyes intense and aglow with blue fire. "and I am no Demon."_

_ "Well, if you're not a demon, then what are you?"_

_ "Spoilers," was all the boy said before vanishing and Alistair looked down at his palm, gasping at the mark left there._

_The boy had traced a star into his pattern and Alistair wasn't sure on the meaning of it. The next time he blinked, the mark was gone and for a moment, he thought perhaps he was having a dream within a dream. A second later, he too was disappearing from the Fade and his body vanished underneath the oak tree he had been previously sitting against_

_._

-o0o-

Morrigan was just finishing cooking some soup when she heard a soft gasp from one of her patients. She turned and found that it was Alistair who had awakened. Of course, it had to be the one that was afraid of barbarians swooping down upon them. Couldn't that other man have woken up? He sounded more intelligent and Morrigan felt that she could get a decent amount of conversing going on with him than this dim-wit here.

"…w-where?" The man croaked, his voice all scratchy and hoarse from several days of disuse. She grabbed a wooden cup and poured some hot soup in it. The dark-haired woman knelt at Alistair's side and, with strange tenderness, she lifted the man's head up and placed the cup at his chapped lips.

"it's hot," she said and Alistair slowly sipped the drink, coughing as the hot draught made its way into his mouth and his stomach.

"For once, you actually listened," the woman chided the man and when Alistair shook his head weakly, she put the cup on the wooden shelf that was lying against the cot.

"You've been asleep for several days."

Alistair still stared at her stupidly, his eyes blinking rapidly. It looked like as if he was falling asleep again.

"Go back to sleep, dim-wit." Her harsh words were softened by her gentle tone and the man's eyes drooped closed. His breath evened out and the lines on his face relaxed as her patient went into a healing sleep rather than a pain-induced state. It was this time her mother entered the hut, a basket full of fresh fruits and some vegetables in her right hand. In her left was a small handful of hares, the blood still dripping off their feet.

"Mother, that's so disgusting!"

"Quiet, child! You're lucky that we have any meat at all. The darkspawn have overrun this area, their taint corrupts everything. I managed to secure one vital area from them but it won't be for long."

Morrigan grumbled about her mother's way of hunting but when Flemeth glared at her with sharp golden eyes, she stopped muttering to herself. The old woman set her items aside and approached the man.

"He was awake, though briefly." Morrigan reported to her mother. She wrung an old cloth over a pail that was located by the bed and placed the damp cloth over the man's forehead. "He is no longer feverish and should be up, about, and asking stupid questions in a day or two."

"It's better to have questions than to go through life wondering." Flemeth admonished her daughter. Her hand positioned itself on the man's chest and she felt that Morrigan was right in her estimation of the man's recovery. His stamina was back to normal levels and the wounds were virtually nonexistent thanks to her healing spells.

Unfortunately, she would have to render open another wound, one that probably won't go away for a long time and is harder to heal.

-TBC-

A/N: Anyone familiar with the term 'spoilers'? Hint: it's used quite frequently in a British tv show.

What's the deal with the little boy showing up in both Alistair's and Hadrian's dreams? And why was Flemeth fishing for information? Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	17. Seeing You With Eyes Closed

**A/N**: I had a very interesting review concerning the social impact of someone being _fey_ (homosexual). For clarification, this story will be AUish so some aspects of Thedas are going to differ from the game, as indicated by our mysterious spirit Wolves. However, for this story, only Ferelden is depicted as a nation that is very suppressed in anything involving sexual matters (this includes both hetero and homo; but the latter, the treatment is much worse) and is in the slow process of accepting any blatant displays of affection. Think of the Victorian age in England. This is why Zevran says in one of his banters with Alistair that 'You Fereldens are so finicky.' All other countries, most prominently Orlais and Antiva, have no problems with it and are in fact very open about it.

Other than that, here are the review responses:

**Nevyn**: As mentioned in the A/N, this story is a little bit AU, in which Ferelden is the only country that has problems with talking and seeing PDA, especially from same sex relationships. By the time I looked into Dragon Age wikia, the story was pretty much all set up with all eight chapters posted. Also, this social issue plays a very important role in my story.

**Exwaiz **and **Alasse Telrunya**: Awesome! As indicated by my interjection of our favourite line from Dr. River Song in _Doctor Who_, I am a big fan of the British TV show. It's so friggin' awesome! Have you watched the latest episodes of season 6? It's pretty intense isn't it? Can't wait for the next episode! Woot!*

**A bashful kid**: No problem! :D I like hearing suggestions from other readers and want to give them credit for it whenever I include them in the chapters. And yes, that does sound like a very good idea! Oh man, I'm getting such a big nosebleed from envisioning Hadrian being in 'heat' and getting claimed by an Alpha Alistair. Besides, the High Lord of the Wolves has big plans for the both of them. Happy reading!

**YoshisSupport**: I have always wondered how and why Flemeth rescued them. When I was getting to the Landsmeet part, it came to me as a 'duh, how could I miss that?' Flemeth is not the main villain in this story, but she is an uber boss for our lovely DA crew to fight against. Question is how and when.

Thanks for _new _readers: **Nevyn, exwaiz, praswit**, and **Tundra17**

Huge, Alistair-sized hugs to my faithful followers!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

CHAPTER 17: SEEING YOU WITH EYES CLOSED

-o0o-

True to Morrigan's words, Alistair was awake and pacing the room the next day. Already, the Warden was driving her crazy; his heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden floor and Morrigan wondered how Hadrian could still sleep through all that. There were moments throughout the day that she wished she was in Hadrian's spot. At least, in the Fade, Alistair would just go away, along with his annoying pacing.

She tolerated it in the first hours of the morne until finally, around lunch time, she couldn't take it anymore. The last pacing was so heavy that it knocked over her bowl of soup, the hot liquid landing in her lap. She let out a shriek, not of pain but of great annoyance, and threatened Alistair that he could pace the room quietly, either as a man or as a toad.

The word 'toad' got his attention and he ruefully nodded his head in agreement. He took one last look at the sleeping occupant in bed and then promptly left the room, leaving Morrigan to her thoughts.

When he got outside, Alistair noticed that despite what had happened, not much had changed in the area surrounding Flemeth's hut. Perhaps Flemeth had used her magic to shield the area from the harmful effects of the Taint and its carriers, the Darkspawn. Trees of various species still stood tall and unbroken. Since it was the fall season, the forest was quite colourful. Hues of orange, brown, and red, dazzled his eyes and the Templar had to blink and refocus his eyes before gazing at the autumnal display. The sky was rather blue and quite clear. The only clouds he could see were off in the distance, much closer to the horizon than they should be for midday.

The hut was set at the bottom of a small hill that sloped gently upwards on a gradual embankment. Considering how deep in the Wilds they were in, it was very astonishing to not see any signs of wildlife. The unearthly silence disturbed the Templar and he suddenly realized that what he was seeing outside was an illusion of some sorts.

As a templar in training, he was taught by the Revered Mother and her sisters that mages were exceptionally dangerous due to their ease of manipulating the four senses of being: taste, touch, sight and hearing. If a spell could control any one of them or is a combination thereof, then the victim can be controlled as well. The illusion was a gentler alternative to blood magic, a forbidden field favoured by the Tevinter Magisters and by apostates.

Seeing the wildlife as a blank canvas but hearing the trees move in a wind that really was not there made him think that perhaps Flemeth wanted to control the two Wardens, not just the Darkspawn. However, he didn't really want to think that the old witch would snoop so low as to kill them just when she went to all that trouble in rescuing them in the first place.

Speaking of which, where had that old woman gone? He only saw Morrigan in the hut as from the moment of his waking to this current one, he hadn't seen not even a wink of that silver head. Then again, as of now, he didn't really want to see anyone. If Flemeth was so powerful, then why hadn't she appeared to help them out at the Battle of Ostagar? She certainly had known about the scrolls of the Warden Treatise, which means she should have knowledge of the Blight .

Should, should, should. All this thinking of the what-ifs was driving him crazy and he was getting a major headache.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

He knew one thing for sure and that it was up to him and his fellow Warden to tackle the Blight, before it reaches the King's Seat and other nations.

Grief overwhelmed him then and the forest started to waver in front of him, blurred by watery tears. A few hours after he woke up, Morrigan had flat out told him what happened and she left out no details in her neutral account of Ostagar.

"_Your friends, the Wardens, were all killed by the time Mother got there, before she plucked you in her talons."_

"_And the King? What of King Cailan?"_

"_That handsome man? He's dead too."_

She said it so nonchalantly, uncaring of the fact that it could have been his brother or any other relative who died there. He hated the way those golden eyes stared at him, as if trying to figure out why humans would cry over what couldn't change. Of course, she didn't know that Cailan was his half-brother but still, did the woman have no heart?

Thinking of his half-brother made him recall of that particular conversation they had before the battle and he realized that the pouch containing those items was gone. Since the witches had suffered the trouble of having to clean his body, even with his undergarments on, the pouch and the rest of his belongings must have been put aside somewhere. He was dressed in his smallclothes and armour but his weapon and shield were still in the hut, along with that pouch.

Perhaps he could look for it if his friend wakes up. '_No, not if, when he wakes up_.'

His last memory of Hadrian was of seeing his pale visage covered in blood. Whose, he didn't know, maybe darkspawn or maybe it was his own. An arrow grazed his head at the beginning of that ambush but the adrenaline prevented him from falling into a stupor, one that would have outright had him killed. Although the time spent together was in battle, Alistair felt as if he'd known him before. He'd seen the man fight at the Summeremere Tournament five years ago but much has changed since that time.

The silver hair was still the same, the face was still the same, but Alistair sensed that something was different with Hadrian this time around

Perhaps Hadrian was hiding a secret of his own, just like him. He had meant to ask why the man was so hell bent on finding Fergus in the Kacori Wilds. Their mission was top priority though and even Hadrian had to abandon his search for this mysterious Fergus. Maybe one day, Hadrian will tell him. Not now. Alistair wasn't expecting his Warden to spill everything he had, especially after this, after that bastard's betrayal.

It hurt to think that Loghain was capable of even thinking of doing it much less actually committing the act. He had always worshipped the famous Hero of River Dane. As a little boy, one of his dreams was to shake hands with the man who supported King Maric, who helped his friend to route the Orlesians out of Ferelden. Now, now, he just wanted to see him hang or even better, kill him himself.

The templar was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear a door opening quietly outwards and a man gingerly walking out, rubbing his sore ribs with his hand.

"A-Alistair?" The voice was a little shaky, as if the man himself wasn't sure if he was still dreaming or not. Alistair hurriedly wiped his tears on his gauntlet, careful to not rub his eyes too hard. Satisfied that he wouldn't look like a blubbering, simpering fool, he composed himself and then turned to face the only survivor of Ostagar, someone other than him.

-o0o-

Hadrian knew that his fellow Warden would be mourning; he too felt grieved over lost comrades but the grief was all too quickly replaced by anger. He should have known that Loghain was up to no good. It was in his dark brown eyes, in his scent in fact. The man's body practically oozed a scent of wickedness and he should have acted on his instincts. However, his anger wouldn't help their situation at all. It would just turn it more unbearable than it already is.

Thus, as he approached Alistair, he opted to go into a relaxed posture, hoping it would help the other man. He called out his name to give the other man a warning and was disgusted with himself when his voice croaked, sounding weak.

The man turned at the sound of his voice and Hadrian felt his heart reach out to him at the sight of those blood shot eyes and the barely visible tear tracks on the man's cheeks. His face looked a little bit thin and worn down but that was to be expected in a recovery.

"You're finally awake," Alistair whispered. His eyes flickered down briefly before coming back to meet his own. "I was…I was getting worried."

"Morrigan told me what happened," Hadrian told his friend in a stronger tone. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Nothing you could have done." Alistair replied. Hadrian thought otherwise but felt it best to keep that matter of opinion to himself.

"There was nothing _anybody_ could have done," an older person said in an assuring voice. Both men jumped a little, taken by surprise at the elderly witch partaking in their conversation.

The older witch walked out of the long shadows of the hut, an amused twinkle in her eyes. She gave a dry laugh and she was greatly amused to see two grown men jump at her voice. In her long years, one of the greatest sources of amusement for her was to see how many ways she could scare men, whether from out of sheer malice or just plain boredom.

"I...were you the one who rescued us?" Alistair asked, recovering more quickly from his shock than his friend.

"Yes. Though I dare say, I was almost too late." Her cold grey eyes stared at them and Hadrian could already see something going on in that head of hers.

"So, it's true, then?" Alistair's voice sounded strained and almost trembled.

Her eyes softened and for a moment, she appeared all the more of a caring old lady rather than a powerful Witch of the Wilds. Lines decorated her face, a sign of a turbulent life, and she gave them a small but sympathetic smile.

"Yes. But will that deter you from stopping the Blight. It should give you all the more reason to stop it."

"But how? We're the only Wardens left in all of Ferelden?" Alistair shook his head angrily. He was only made a Grey Warden seven months ago and had limited experience with fighting the darkspawn much less anything else. How in the Black City is he supposed to stop a Blight?

"Aren't you forgetting something, lad?" The old woman chuckled. "Didn't Duncan have you retrieve those treatise scrolls, the same ones I gave you?"

"Yes," Alistair mumbled, his face scowling at the thought that he left everything back at Ostagar, including those scrolls.

"They weren't lost. In fact, this young man had it with him," she regarded Hadrian with piercing gray orbs and Hadrian nodded in affirmation to her conclusion.

"Duncan asked me to keep it with me at all times," Hadrian replied. "They're with my belongings."

"Even with the treatise, there's no way we can gather an army in time, not with Loghain at our backs!"

"Giving up so easily? I thought the Grey Wardens were made out of stronger stuff than I'm currently seeing. Perhaps I should have left you at that tower."

"No," Hadrian rebutted, and for a moment, his eyes glowered before going back to their normal blue colours. _He's an abomination! But how?_ Flemeth must look into this. She must. If this man truly is an abomination, her Goddess must be informed. If Hadrian was a mage, she would have understood the implications of it; however, never in recorded history has an abomination be a plain male, with no magical abilities at all, not even through his family line. This was truly a curious development.

"We'll stop the Blight and Loghain in the process." Hadrian's voice was firm and his determination seemed to reassure the other Grey Warden that perhaps not all was lost after all. Alistair's back straightened and there was something else etched on the man's face. When Hadrian saw it, he realized that it was hope. He prayed to the Maker that he would never live to see the day that hopeful look fall into something of despair and loss again, much like his own face.

-TBC-

Thanks for reading! Plz review! And if you haven't voted yet, please do! :D


	18. A Grumpy Witch and Three Prakos

**Warnings:** Cursing and violence.

**Rating** (for this chapter): Teen

**Review responses**:

A kid: Ah Sten. The ever stoic character who always questions my actions in the game. Let's just say he'll definitely question the relationship of Hadrian and Alistair. Leliana, the ever sexy Bard, will be more open-minded than her chantry sisters as she did start out as an assassin in Orlais first and foremost. Also, it is up to Hadrian to turn Alistair into a pervert in the most delicious ways! I'm not yet sure on how to do the romance but keep a lookout! * grins *

YoshisSupport: Woops! I misunderstood. Sorry about that. :D Yes, what the boy quoted in Alistair's dream originated from Doctor Who, the British TV Show. Dr. River Song, how I love thee and your mysterious ways with the Doctor.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

A Grumpy Witch and Three Prakos

The two Wardens, after learning of the older witch's name with a shudder going through their spines, finally acquiesced to taking up Flemeth's offer of her daughter's help. Alistair didn't like the younger witch at all, as apparent by their unfriendly banter and bickering. At first, Hadrian found it amusing.

However, Morrigan had hit a sharp nerve one evening. She was incredibly upset when her mother forced her to go with the two men. It showed in her caustic comments about Alistair's continual moping on his loss and in her cooking as well. Hadrian had went off that evening to catch some dinner with while Alistair stayed behind to clean their armor and weapons.

"Why must you always hum when you're cleaning, Alistair? Silence is golden, especially with you around." She had already prepared a small cauldron with some broth cooking in it. There was a horrible smell coming from it, as if the witch neglected to put some aromatic herbs in the soup such as rosemary and thyme. Or perhaps she had placed a week's old corpse in it. It would explain for that Maker awful smell Alistair was experiencing. It was bad enough to make him gag but that would mean he would have to start his polishing over again.

"It helps, if you want to know." Alistair replied in a quiet voice. He absentmindedly rubbed a stubborn streak from the flat side of sword, the one given to him by Duncan himself. It was a plain Warden's sword, long and ending at almost 2 feet at the tip. The blade was of medium quality, being wrought from double carbon folded steel, but lyrium patterns woved around the sword and it caused the sword to emit a light yellow glow. '_This sword, although not as good as its peers in terms of quality, will be suitable for you as it does extra damage against Darkspawn. Should you ever need to, use it without hesitation.' _Duncan's voice echoed in his mind and he could almost see his mentor's face reflecting in the blade. Startled, he dropped the sword and it clanged upon landing, causing the witch to stare at him with those haunting topaz orbs.

"With you making such loud noises around the area, it would be a wonder that the Darkspawn don't _swoop_ down upon us! The way you're handling yourself, it's no wonder the Wardens died so quickly in battle!"

Alistair couldn't say anything, not without his voice breaking and his eyes welling in tears as grief drove over him in endless waves. Instead, he merely gathered what items he needed to finish his polish and, picking up the sword along the way, silently went back into his tent.

Hadrian came back to an almost empty campsite, with a witch standing watch over her cauldron and someone that was missing from his view. He had a deer slung over his right shoulder and he deposited it next to Morrigan, earning him the usual cold glare. Unlike Alistair, however, he was not put off by it. Rather, it irked him and he returned it with one of his own.

"Where is Alistair, Morrigan?"

The witch's nose wrinkled in disgust as she watched the young Warden commenced in skinning the deer and cutting the meat with his small dirk. She turned her attention to the boiling soup and stirred it with a wooden spatula.

"He's in that rudimentary contraption of his."

"Really?" Hadrian was surprised to hear that his fellow Warden had retreated back into the small tent that they both shared. Alistair loved the outdoors and if he was cleaning their equipment, then the smell would be twice as bad in such a small enclosure. Then again, there was another bad smell and his stomach did odd turns when he realized where the smell was coming from.

"Yes, he was outside until I made a remark about his clumsiness. I suppose that a Grey Warden doesn't make you less clumsy." Her tone was not particularly malicious, but the seeming carelessness in the way she said it pissed Hadrian off. _No wonder Alistair went into his tent._ Hadrian had put up with their bickering for a whole day and he was getting more and more impatient with the witch rather than Alistair. Morrigan had never lost anything. She couldn't understand what both of them had gone through; however, it didn't call for her rude comments. He had to nip this in the butt. He placed the cut pieces of venison in the small cauldron and then stood in front of the witch, her retort stopped at the fierce scowl on the man's face.

"What is the meaning of this?" She asked, her arms held in a tight grip by Hadrian's arms.

"Exactly my point," Hadrian growled back at her. "He lost his family out there and you treat it as if it was nothing. Don't mock him or the Wardens, you got that?"

_'This man dares threaten me? I can turn him into ash with but a word?_ '_Remember, child, your true mission. Or your nightmares will be the least of your worries.'_

The grip tightened at her lack of response and she let out a gasp, something she tried to withheld. She glared back at Hadrian and found a wolf staring back at her, prompting a further delay in her comeback. Her eyes blinked again and the visage of the wolf disappeared, leaving behind only a very angry looking warrior whose patience was growing thin.

"Let go of me now, or I will turn you into a toad." She almost made good on her threat but to her surprise, Hadrian let her forearms go. Red welts had almost immediately appeared and she winced at the throbbing pain from them.

"Turn me into a toad then; but I bet your mother won't be pleased."

_What? How did he know about that? _Hadrian mistook her silence for fear of him.

"Your mother ordered you to go with us. I'm sure she won't be too happy if she found out that you turned both of us into toads." The human warrior's face was smug and seeing that he made his point, he walked away from her and headed into the tent, very aware of golden eyes digging into his back.

-o0o-

Alistair's eyebrows were raised upwards, almost into his hairline, at a speechless Morrigan when the next morning came. For a whole day she had yet to say something derogatory towards the Wardens, more specifically towards him. Even when cooking, which would be the prime time for her to say something, her sharp tongue stayed.

The noise of someone walking towards him caught his attention and he saw that Hadrian had approached him, sliding his dagger into a small sheathe at his hip. He wasn't wearing his usual heavy armor but had opted for the light type that allowed more movement.

"I'm going to hunt for some more food. You want to stay or come with?"

Alistair considered his options. If he stayed, then he would have no choice but to put up with Morrigan and her negativity. The Witch was powerful in her own right. In one of their minor skirmishes with a lot of tainted wolves and other predators that roamed the woods, they saw how easily she destroyed over half of them with just a fire spell. Unfortunately, since it was an area of effect spell, it almost swallowed the two Wardens as well, much to their chagrin. Alistair had to smile at how Hadrian huffed and puffed at Morrigan, his hair still aflame before Morrigan pointed it out and used a water spell to douse it out. Actually, it rather poured onto him, drenching him in water until even his smallclothes were soaking wet.

"Alistair, what are you smiling at?" Hadrian's question caused him to return to the present and he found a wry smile on his friend's face.

"Nothing in particular. Just thinking of how you were on fire and then Morrigan literally put a bucket of water over you."

Hadrian tried to stifle a laugh but it came out unbidden and both Wardens burst out laughing, prompting a stoney glance from their chief who was strongly considering in putting some blood lotus in their soup. It wasn't harmful if congested, except maybe cause some minor vomiting. However, any delay in their getting out of the Wilds would only result in the Blight overtaking them that much sooner. She disliked the idea of having to travel with her two current companions, but she absolutely loathed the Darkspawn and found the idea of facing her mother's wrath terrifying. Thus, she withheld her idea of temporarily poisoning her companions. For now at least.

"Come on, Alistair," Hadrian persuaded his friend gently, "Morrigan can take care of herself."

"Yeah, I don't think I want to stick around now," Alistair laughed as he got up.

A few minutes later, the two men were roaming around the area that was further up ahead of their camp. One of them was trying to be quiet while the other one clearly had no experience in tracking animals as evidenced by a couple of frustrated sounds of 'ow!' and 'Andraste's knickers!' Hadrian sighed heavily. He was never going to get anywhere with his friend lumbering heavily after him. Deciding that he should probably leave him behind, he circled back and placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder.

The templar whirled around and Hadrian just barely blocked a thrust with his hand that lashed out to stop the offending hand. In the dark, he could see Alistair's eyes widened out of fear that he almost killed his only Warden friend.

"Hadrian! I'm s-s-sorry! I didn't know it was you!"

"You've never had any training in tracking, have you?" The question was asked in an exasperated tone. Alistair shrugged helplessly and Hadrian's eyes rolled in annoyance. "Just stay here. I'll come back."

"Hey! It's really dark out there!" Alistair shouted after him as he plunged deeper into the forest. The poor man waited for a reply but got none. He stayed where he was at and it was as if the forest itself was holding its breath until Hadrian left his premises. As soon as he no longer saw Hadrian, the forest came alive with strange, ominous sounds like owls hooting quietly while the trees rustled in a light breeze. There seemed to be heavy footsteps going around and Alistair bated his breath, waiting for some huge animal to come through. After a while of nothing though, the templar discovered that the thumping sounds of footsteps were the sounds of his heart beating rapidly. He wasn't scared. Nope, he faced darkspawn. He wasn't scared of some animal that could be prowling around in the darkness, waiting for its prey to relax its guard before pouncing for the attack. Nope, not scared at all. _Hadrian, you better get your arse back here!_

-o0o-

Hadrian's senses sharpened in the night and he could feel the presence of the tainted wolves prowling around their campsite. Their thoughts slid against his, like mud drifting over hard rocks. He found it repulsive and wished that Zarieth had not given him this gift, this curse. He discovered that his perception would be sharper than his peers, especially around a full moon and amongst other things. _Whoever shall look upon you in the star's light will not live to tell the tale._ His eyes closed at the thoughts of two incidents in which he had been seen in his alternate form. Both witnesses had died and he cursed at himself for it being his fault. Cailan and Duncan were good men. Why did they have to die? '_Because you would be imprisoned and studied, just like an animal. You must be kept secret. For the world's sake. For your sake.'_

That stupid voice was speaking to him. Again. It was like having another person talking to you, except it was in his mind.

Suddenly, movement occurred in his peripheral vision and he ducked down, trying to be downwind from whatever was moving out there. He couldn't sense any taint emanating from the creature. Thus, it was safe to eat, if he could catch it before it escaped him. The creature came out into whatever light the night could afford and it was huge, easily towering at five feet tall and that was from afar. On second thought, maybe he shouldn't have left his friend back there.

As if sensing it was being spied on, the creature's head lifted and let out a shrill whistle, a sound he never would have thought it being capable of producing. At first, nothing else moved. However, it got very quiet as if the forest was waiting for something or just abiding its time to attack him.

Hadrian figured it was the latter option. A sound of thunder clapped ahead but despite the presence of clouds hovering above him, they were light in texture and shape. Also, the thunder seemed to increase by every bit of a candlelight and clouds of dust appeared several feet away from him. Within those clouds were those monstrous shapes again and Hadrian let out a curse. He only wore light armor, something that was ill suited for a long-drawn battle with any monstrosity found in the Wilds, including the Darkspawn. Now, he was very happy that he left Alistair in a safe place, where it was closer to camp. Should Alistair come across any dangers, Morrigan should be able to hear the calls of distress and come to their aide. Of course, the key word was 'should.' Hadrian grimaced at the thought that maybe Morrigan would just stay on the sidelines and heal them afterwards.

The creatures of the Wild didn't afford Hadrian time to imagine a possible scenario where the two warriors were wishing that the old woman was with them instead of Morrigan, whose healing abilities weren't exactly painless.

They loomed over him, their stature easily ending at seven feet in height with some room to spare. Hadrian could see that they were _Prakos_, creatures similar to bears except their exterior was hardened bone itself, an adaptation to the severe weather conditions of the south. The cold storms were merciless to the inhabitants of the Kacori Wilds and south of the forest. Any animals not adapted to them suffered extinction.

Fortunately, _Prakos_ steered clear of humanity and they were usually herbivores, a characteristic one couldn't tell by their sharp tusks and the ferocity of their attacks. Unfortunately, one _Prakos_ was dangerous enough by itself. Hadrian was surrounded with three of them and he figured that he might have stumbled unto a brooding nest of some sort. Only one was female in appearance for it was smaller than the others by two feet. That didn't mean she was any less of a danger though, which Hadrian was beginning to discover.

He just barely managed to dodge a charge from the female one when he almost managed to impale himself on a pair of tusks from another Prakos, one that looked like the Alpha of the Pack by his immense size and commanding air. _Maker's arse, maybe I should have brought Alistair with me!_

Seeing as how there was no way he could defeat them all by himself, at least not without getting killed in the process, he made a decision to head straight for his friends. _Morrigan better not be bitching about lack of meat now!_ He ran as fast as he could and when he came finally stumbled upon the campsite, Morrigan wasn't there like she should be. He heard a loud roar behind him and something charging at him. The warrior barely managed to dodge another charge but he landed in the path of another. Before he could do anything, it charged at him and threw him in the air. _I am not going to die in some Maker forsaken forest!_ He twisted his body to where he could land on the ground in a roll, an action that earned him a broken ankle and dislocated shoulder.

The same Prakos that charged at him swung back and it pawed the ground in front of him, a clear sign of its intentions in finishing him off. The others, sensing that the intruder was down, circled him, their tusks targeting him. There was no way he would be able to dodge them all with a broken ankle. With that thought in mind, all three of them charged at the same time and Hadrian was ready to face death.

-o0o-

"What is taking those two so long? My cauldron is almost half-empty!" Morrigan muttered and she was very tempted to just go on her own to retrieve dinner. However, if she did that, then no one else would be able to watch over the camp. No one except a mangy dog of Hadrian's. Her back was turned to the dog, whose head suddenly reared up from it was lying on its paws. The ears were laid flat and there was a growling sound, which brought Morrigan's attention to him.

"What is it, mongrel? Something scary out there?" She clutched at her staff, which was lying right next to her in case of an emergency. The dog continued to growl but the female Mage couldn't hear anything except for the fires crackling behind her and the usual sounds of the forest like owls hooting and creatures thundering about. Wait, creatures should not be _thundering _around at this time of night!

_Oh Maker's arse!_ The witch cursed inwardly for the sounds were coming straight towards the campsite, to her. She was itching for a fight but she was starving first and foremost. The trees facing the back of their tents were falling back, as if a great gust of wind just simply billowed them over. The witch knew better though, especially when she heard the telltale roars of the Prakos.

She had lived in the Wilds for far too long to not know the other inhabitants of the Kacori Wilds. Someone must have pissed them off for the animals to go running around amok late at night. If she were to place a bet on the cause of the whole chaos, it would be Alistair without a doubt. His movements could wake the dead if that was possible.

The dog, whose name she never really cared to learn, ran away at the sounds and Morrigan figured that now she had two cowards to deal with. When the noise was coming closer though, she realized that the dog must have known something and the witch followed the dog, not wanting to be left behind with huge monsters.

Not too long after the pair edged deeper into the forest but still in view of the campsite, three Prakos came charging in, running over the tents and the fire. One of them screeched as its legs caught on fire but it was strong enough to keep running through it. The force of the charge allowed the simmering flames to dissipate into the cold night and it circled back towards the centre, where Morrigan could see a human figure limping on one leg with a dagger hovering protectively before his face.

It wouldn't' do to have her strongest warrior die in this stupid forest. So, while the Prakos charged at the figure in the middle, she muttered a few words and the three were caught in a mass paralysis spell. Hadrian tried to run his way out only to fall flat on his face. The paralysis spell could only hold her enemies for so long and she wished that for once, Alistair would come back.

One of their enemies was straining against the spell and Morrigan focused on keeping her will on it. It was enough though for Alistair ran in and grabbed Hadrian. He slung him over his shoulder and jumped out of the paralysis circle, allowing Morrigan to cast an interno spell, one that decimated the creatures within a few seconds.

The mabari barked excitedly at seeing its Master again and then it whimpered when Hadrian was set down against a tree, with Alistair hovering over him. Morrigan didn't want to go over where the others were just yet. She had to ensure that the Prakos were dead. There were shrieks of agony coming from the lumps caught in the flames and then there was silence. Morrigan cast another spell, one that she learned from a grimoire her mother let her borrow at one time. A strong gust of wind blew through the site, leaving behind perfectly well-done sacks of meat.

Satisfied that the enemies were finished off, she took her time in reaching the two men and the canine. As she got closer, she could hear pained gasps and the Templar chiding his friend for not coming his way soon enough.

" Andraste's knickers, Hadrian," Alistair cursed. He undid the buckles of his friend's left greave and gingerly felt around the swollen limb. "Your ankle is broken. So is your left shoulder."

"No shit, genius," Hadrian hissed at him but he was immediately apologetic for it when he saw the hurt look on Alistair's face. "Sorry, it just hurts like hell right now."

The apology seemed sincere enough to Alistair for he bestowed a gentle smile at his injured friend. The smile disappeared though when he caught sight of the witch who was strolling towards them, taking her sweet time in reaching the pair.

"Well, looks like Alistair isn't the only clumsy fool around here," Morrigan said. Regus growled at her venomous tone and he snarled when her hands drew nearer to Hadrian's body. "Stupid mongrel. I mean no threat to your master or Alistair."

"Down, boy." Hadrian commanded and Regus stopped growling. However, his eyes were fixed on hers and Morrigan had a feeling that Regus would instinctively protect his human charge were she to do any harm to them.

No further words were said and Hadrian's body glowed for a bit. The man sighed in relief as the pain went away and his broken bones were set in place. Morrigan sat back on her knees and Hadrian stretched his shoulder, smiling at a soft _pop_ that emitted from his old injury..

"You know, shoulders aren't supposed to be making popping sounds," Morrigan interjected in a pedantic way.

"I know," was the simple reply. "well, our campsite's really trashed this time and we have plenty of food to eat."

Morrigan's eyes flickered back to the three unmoving lumps. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell. However, her stomach growled and she had a hunch that this may be the last time they could feast in a while.

Two days later, the witch was right and she hated herself for it. After walking for 20 leagues, she finally saw a bridge appear only a few yards away. She heard relieved sighs from her companions around her and even the damned dog was yipping happily at the first sight of civilization.

"Lothering," Hadrian said breathlessly. "We're almost there. Let's hope we don't run into any more trouble."

The pace picked up as all three humans were eager to finally have a chance to sleep on warm beds for once and not have to worry about predators lurking about them. Unfortunately, trouble seemed to find them as they were to discover at the bridge half a candlelight later.

-TBC-

A/N: Remember to review! If there are more reviews attached to the story, then that means more people will read it and possibly review as well, which will make me very, very happy. :D

I like when reviews are given. It's like receiving Christmas presents. :)

Next chapter is Lothering and our trio will bump into the Hawkes, which will change everything, and other not so pleasant things!


	19. Divine Intervention or Just Flying Dogs

**Warnings: **violence; light gore (that's an oxymoron isn't it?), language

**Rating** (for this chapter): +15 (materials appropriate for anyone aged 15 and up)

**Review responses**:

Aki: You are the bomb with detailed reviews! So to answer your plethora of questions (taking a deep breath):

Yes, Alistair will see Hadrian in his alternate form. No other details about this will be provided as it will spoil the story.

Yes, our heroes will undertake Morrigan's companion quest, but it'll have a twist.

Asha'bellanar is provided in DA 2 in one of the beginning cutscenes. I tried to come up with my dialogue but some will be from the game.

No, Flemeth does not know about the pact with the wolves; when she does, she's in for a big and nasty surprise

Like in the game, Jowan will still poison the Arl but the circumstances are different, which will be given in later chapters.

I think that covers the majority of your questions. :D Thanks a bunch for your reviews!

PS. Since this story has gone past 50 reviews (thanks to you), which pairing would you like to see in the promised one-shot?

A kid: Lol, believe it or not, I wrote a chapter on zevran flirting with Hadrian and Alistair getting jealous. I just didn't know if there was another way in bringing Hadrian and Alistair together.

David9999: I'm happy that you are enjoying the story. Happy readers encourage me to write more.

Exwaiz: Yep, they meet the Hawkes and this moment will change _everything!_

YoshisSupport: I was thinking of the same thing when I wrote this part. I haven't come across any stories with this alternative event occurring so I thought to have a crack at it. Since I promised you and Aki a one-shot story with your fav pairing, which one would _you_ like to see?

Squeal! I love you guys! THANK YOU!

Chapter 19: Divine Intervention or Just Flying Dogs

If Hadrian expected no trouble upon stepping foot on the first sign of humanity, he was very wrong. As soon as he saw a group of travelers arguing with another group, this one consisting of unruly bandits with their poorly tailored clothing and rusty weapons, he groaned inwardly, thinking that the Maker had it in for him.

Morrigan was muttering something underneath her breath while Alistair looked upon the scene ahead of him curiously.

"Hadrian," Alistair whispered to him. The templar walked even closer to the man leading the trio.

"I know. Bandits," Hadrian replied in an exasperated tone. All he wanted was a nice, cozy bed. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, Regus was thinking of the same thing for he let out a small whimper before growling in a warning. The Cousland youngest petted his Mabari in an effort to soothe his Mabari hound. It wouldn't do for the whole group to be attacked just because of a misunderstanding.

They were close enough now to hear one of the bandits demanding for coin in return for entry and a desperate reply of having no coin coming an older lady.

"Look, all I ask is for 10 sovereigns. If you could afford that pretty sword, you can afford this fee," a burly man opinionated, his arms braced across his barrel chest. Unlike the talking bandit, his comrades were fully armed and some were even fingering their weapons, as if they were just itching for a fight.

"Mother," the man standing to the right of the old lady started to say. "It's alright. I'll just give him this."

His hand dug into his pocket. The man's eyes were fixed on the bandits, not wanting to take his eyes off a potential threat. A few seconds of rummaging through his stuff, he finally managed to retrieve a small locket. The burnished gold plating shone brilliantly and the leader of the bandits uncrossed his arms, the greed rising in his flat brown eyes.

The lad's mother, Hadrian observed, was absolutely horrified at the thought of giving a simple piece of jewelry to the bandits.

"No! That's your father's! You mustn't give it away!"

"I know. But it's all we really have at the moment," the man's reluctance showed in his eyes that shuttered closed for a brief moment before opening again.

That did it right there for Hadrian, who was quite intimate with the knowledge of losing something precious just to survive. He made to move towards them, trusting his companions to follow in his lead. They did and had covered his flanks, with Regus hovering close enough to his master to protect if need by but not to get in the way either.

Alerted to their presence, the leader's eyes darted to them and they held a hint of fear mixed in some of annoyance. Hadrian was pleased to know that the bandit was having second thoughts about conning a family of their heirloom.

"Like I said to this lot, 10 sovereigns to upkeep the road."

"I wasn't aware of such a toll. Usually, the bridges in villages are for public use and thus free for everybody," Hadrian said smoothly. As a noble, he was very aware of the infrastructure of society, from that of a village to Denerim itself. With the King's highways connecting the first outer lying villages to the cities, it was common for a fee to be charged. However, it was quite nominal, a request for 50 silvers, but the amount of people paying it made it profitable for the Committee of Commerce, which was honor-bound to utilize the money for the public. On the other hand, bridges built around remote villages such as Lothering were free of charge due to the paucity of the wealthy in rural areas.

The leader of the bandit grew flustered and then angry at being outwitted, not that he had any to begin.

"We were posted here to make sure only refugees can pass," the bandit retorted as calmly as he could.

"Uh, boss, these don't look like refugees," another man pointed out. His black eyes flickered nervously between his leader and the one who, though shorter than him, had an overwhelming aura, as if he was used to having people obey him. "They have weapons."

"And thus, they can afford the pay. Now pay up or face the consequences."

"Come on, Arren, let's just deal with them and move on," a brunette complained, his greatsword already in his hands. "we either lose our heirloom of our forefathers or get scratched. Either way, we're losing time!"

"Carver, hold your sword," Arren commanded and the young brunette obeyed albeit reluctantly.

However, the threat of an open weapon passed and the bandits withdrew their own, their eagerness for easy prey too clear in their ecstatic faces. The leader of the bandits had his longsword in his right hand and he barked an order for attack, to which his underlings obeyed with the enthusiasm of caged dogs hungry for food.

Hadrian, being closer to the leader and within range of the sword, parried a thrust with his hunting dagger. With the dangerous blade out of the way, he swiftly moved in and pivoting on his left foot, sidekicked him in the abdomen and forcing his opponent into the crates behind him.

The move had left his back exposed to another bandit. As the scarred man went in for what seemed like an easy kill, he found himself rooted to the spot. His blade, mere inches away from penetrating the Cousland's spine, stopped and the man let out a chocked cry of frustration as ice crept up his feet and then climbed its way to his whole body and covered his face. If the man had any hope that perhaps he would be released from his icy prison, it was dashed quite literally. One of his own comrades was fighting Alistair and was forced back with a blow to the face from a shield. Unfortunately he stepped back into the frozen man and the cold snapped him of his strength and agility. This brief lull of weakness allowed Alistair to finish him quickly with a frontal assault of his sword. The force of the strike was so powerful that Alistair's sword plunged itself through flesh and then ice. However, the Grey Warden's sword got stuck there and he experienced a moment of panic when he found himself without a sword.

A shout drew his focus away from the two enemies he dispatched and his face paled at the sight of a Greatsword coming down upon him. Great, he was going to get owned by some stupid, nameless bandit.

"Bethany! Stop that man!" Another man shouted and Alistair's eyes, already widened in seeing his death coming upon him so early, grew as wide as saucers at the sight of the man being electrocuted. He had never seen such powerful magic. The lightning tendrils wrapped itself around the man and his enemy screeched with agony. He let go of the sword, which fell to the ground and immediately picked up by the Warden. Without a moment of hesitation, he brought the sword up and loped the bandit's head off, grimacing as blood spurted out and splashed on his face. _So much for taking that bath earlier this morning_.

The skirmish with the bandits ended rather quickly and the only survivor was the leader himself, his quivering form found lying next to one of the downed barrels that had fallen in the fight.

"Please, don't kill me! I'm sorry!" He rambled, the fear plain in his eyes and having that pungent stench to Hadrian, who stood over the shaking bandit, his sword slicked in his enemy's blood.

"Where's all the gold you've conned from fleeing refugees?" Hadrian growled at the man and when the man didn't give a response, he crouched next to him so that he could see him on eye level.

"It's behind me, in those chests, along with some items. Take them! They're yours!"

"I say just kill him," Morrigan said from behind him. "It would be one less person to knife us in the back."

"Morrigan, that's just…that's cold! He's pleading for his life and you want to end it?" Alistair exclaimed, still shocked at how cruel this witch of the Wilds could be. The dark-haired witch just glared at him coldly before turning her cool gaze to Hadrian, who was still crouching right next to the bandit.

"Why don't we ask the bandit's would be victims, hmm?" Hadrian suggested, thinking that this would be more just than killing him.

The would-be victims were standing around the bandit, off to Hadrian's left side with Regus serving as a barrier. Regus, surprisingly, did not growl at the newcomers. Instead, he almost seemed happy to see them, especially the one with the Greatsword, which was now strapped to his back.

If Regus was relaxed around these odd-clothed strangers, then so was Alistair, despite his Templar self mentally sending off red flags at the presence of _two_ mages in sight. He had seen the young lady's power and it scared him, seeing at how easily it incapacitated a man. Granted, the bandits were attacking them but now he had to worry about having _three_ mages with him, not just the one witch with a stick up her butt.

Unlike Morrigan though, the two mages Alistair saw appeared to be genuinely nice people. The tall mage, the one who was willing to part a personal artifact to the bandits, had golden eyes, much like Morrigan's. The similarities though stopped there. While Morrigan's topaz orbs had a hardened edge to it, those of the man were soft and compassionate. Additionally, he and the young female standing next to him, were more modest in their attire.

They were both garbed in mage robes; Arren's was washed in colours of dark red and brown, which contrasted nicely with his female counterpart's of gold and black. They weren't the robes of a mage from the tower though and Alistair feared that the two mages before him could be apostates on the run from Templars.

What struck him as an oddity wasn't the fact that two mages here could be apostates but there was also an olde lady and the warrior, who was currently petting the Mabari. These apostates had people with them. He heard plenty of stories from the Templars at his monastery about the apostates and how they would sometimes lure people in with their blood magic to follow them around and do their bidding. However, those taken in by blood magic possess that entranced look.

These two refugees, however, did not appear to be entranced. Their eyes held too much of that freewill and their faces weren't abnormally pale as they would be under a spell. The movements of their limbs proved too smooth and best of all, they spoke their minds.

"Brother, I say we should kill him; he did try to attack us," the male answered in an aggressive tone. The man addressed as 'brother' by the young brunette sighed in response.

"It's because you had that sword out, which provoked them into attacking us, Carver." The tall mage's gaze flickered over to Alistair and his companions briefly before finally landing on Hadrian and the crouching bandit. "we'll let him go. He was desperate, that's all."

Hadrian, Alistair noticed, wasn't as willing as the other strangers in letting this bandit go and when the bandit started to scramble away, the senior Warden saw Hadrian's hand, that was placed close to the hilt of his sword, twitch for a minute, as if he was restraining himself. His friend's hand stayed though and for some reason, Alistair was a little bit relieved that at least one of them had self-control.

The bandit bid them a very hasty thank you and he took off running, heading past the bridge and into the northern woods ahead of Lothering.

With the bandit out of the way, the two groups now focused on each other. Wary eyes glanced over their counterparts and tension seemed to rise out of nowhere, despite having working together against a common enemy. Only Arren Hawke was unfazed by it all and his face broke out into a kind smile, which worked in relaxing Hadrian and his companions.

"I'm Arren Hawke and this is my family: Mother, Bethany, and Carver." Arren introduced his family to Hadrian who nodded in polite acknowledgment to each member. "I want to thank you for that."

"Don't mention it," Hadrian said rather shortly. Seeing that locket of Hawke and how willing he was to part with it brought up some unpleasant memories. His heart ached at how this man could still have his family while he did not. How ironic it was to have met like this! "Just can't stand it when you have to lose a part of yourself in order to survive."

Understanding echoed in Arren's eyes. It appeared that Hadrian wasn't the only person who suffered a familial loss. The absence of his father did not pass Hadrian's notice but the young Cousland thought it best not to ask about it. If he didn't want strangers prying into his business, he was sure this strange man would feel the same way.

"And your friends?" Arren asked softly. Hadrian's eyes snapped open. He hadn't realized they were closed.

"Yes, yes," Hadrian said, his words almost stumbling into each other. "Alistair and Morrigan. The Mabari's Regus."

Regus, hearing his name being called out, barked and he padded forward, his head nudging into Hadrian's thigh.

"A Mabari," Arren gasped and he knelt down, seemingly unafraid that Regus could knock him down and tear his throat out. He gently laid out a hand, palm up, to show that he meant no harm to Regus or the dog's companions. To Hadrian's surprise, Regus did not growl like he usually does with random strangers. Instead, he yipped happily and licked the young mage on the cheek, earning him a half-hearted protest.

"Brother, we should get moving; the darkspawn aren't that far behind us." Carver pleaded with his brother, who stood up but not before scratching the Mabari underneath the chin.

"I know, Carver."

"Where are you heading to?" Hadrian asked the man. "To Lothering?"

"Actually yes. We live there in fact."

"Ooh."

Hadrian wasn't expecting that answer. He had hoped to get into Lothering without garnering too much attention. Maybe there was a reason for this.

"Would you like to join us for dinner, perhaps? Mother makes really good soup." The mage acted as if he wanted Hadrian and his friends to join them.

At first Hadrian wanted to just continue on with his friends. He was about to say 'no' when his stomach chose that moment to growl at him.

"Well, I suppose, we can do that." He said as he rubbed his stomach. His friend gave a light laugh while Morrigan's scowl became even uglier. _He didn't eat the breakfast I cooked for them! That insolent man!_

"It's agreed, then." Hawke looked to his family to see if they had anything to say against. When he saw or heard none, he returned his gaze back to the odd-looking foursome. An apostate, two warriors, and a dog. _Trouble always seems to find us._ _Maybe these four can help out._

-o0o-

Trouble came with a capital "T" and spelt out templar. When the two groups made their way through the bridge and down the steps, what they found astonished them, even for the Wardens. Everywhere there were people scrounging about and setting up makeshift tents; for those who were merchants or could afford one, some were in their wagons, trying to settle down for the afternoon and then evening.

Long faces and scraggy clothes gave off the appearance of desperation and helplessness in the observers' eyes. What tore at Hadrian's heart was seeing tiny children clutching at their mother's skirts or their father's leggings, crying for attention. One of the little boys painfully reminded him of little Oren, his young nephew who was lost at the Castle.

His eyes tore away from the heart-wrenching scenes and finally landed on the entrance, where someone stood guard. The sun shone directly in his eyes and he had to place a hand over his brow to be able to see the details of the guard.

The silhouette of the guard told him that he was a Templar. The shoulder pads were too extravagant to belong to that of a regular guard and the lower half of the Templar was covered by fabric. He couldn't really pinpoint the other fine details of the armor but that didn't matter. There was a Templar and he had three apostates with him. How in the Maker's Pits was he going to get by them?

Hawke found out why Hadrian was do distressed but unlike his new friend, he wasn't as bothered by it as he should be. He continued walking, his family following right behind him. Seeing as how there was no way he could persuade them to stay back, Hadrian decided that perhaps Hawke could take the lead for once.

"If you are refugees, you may want to continue on," the Templar stopped them with a hand raised up.

"Don't you recognize us, Ser Aldric?" Hawke's question baffled Hadrian and the others. This mage knows that Templar? And from the way he was asking that question, it seemed as if there was something more than just a Templar-mage relationship.

"Arren! By the Maker, I didn't recognize you! Your house is still untouched as I've been keeping an eye on it."

"Thanks. I was worried that with us gone to fight with the King and not being here..."

Ser Aldric brushed aside his thanks but he still kept his eyes fixed on the three strange travelers. He had never seen those three before and one of them looked like a very dangerous apostate who apparently did not mind that she was showing off the beginning of her assets to the world in that flimsy top.

"Who are these, Arren? Friends?" Hawke nodded in answer and Ser Aldric's fears abided. It was bad enough for the threat of the darkspawn hovering their heads. This village did not need dangerous people roaming around either.

"I see. Well, that's good because there's a lot of refugees coming through and with Loghain having taken all our men from here, we've little men to defend against the darkspawn."

"Loghain?" Hadrian asked after him, curious to know why Loghain would dry a village of its men and keep onwards. "When did this happen?"

"They left a few days ago. Why do you ask?"

Before Hadrian could give an answer that might have endangered his own crew, Hawke smoothly replied, by saying that they were glad of this news and that they all needed rest. Ser Aldric didn't push on with his questions. He gave them a perfunctory nod and watched the large group head to the bridge and take a left, towards the houses. _Strange people nowadays. _

-o0o-

Thankfully, the other Templars had convened at the local Chantry monastery and nobody else stopped them on their way to the Hawkes' house.

The interior wasn't exactly luxurious. The furniture was worn-out and the walls were faded and dotted with tiny holes. The living room the group piled into had a homely feel to it. A set of four chairs was placed in the middle of the room, circling around a small fireplace. The windows lacked curtains and, thus, sunlight drifted lazily into the house, making the house warmer than desirable. Luckily, winter was setting in and the added warmth from the sun would be a delicious welcome later in the evening.

While the guests stood around awkwardly, unsure of whether they should sit down or stand up, Hawke's mother briskly walked to the kitchen, which stood in the back of the household.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Arren said, his hands gesturing to the chairs.

Both Hadrian and Alistair did not need any persuasion to do so as they almost made a beeline for the chairs. Morrigan stared at the last chair available as if the chair was a snake and coming to bite her.

"Go on," a female voice urged, "it doesn't bite."

It was the brunette mage who had spoken to her and she scoffed at the thought of that she, the great Morrigan, was afraid of a chair. She just didn't like how horrible it looked. She was about to say something quite nasty when Hadrian's eyes shifted to hers quickly before turning away.

"Why, thank you," Morrigan forced out her thanks. Bethany merely smiled at her and she moved into the kitchen.

A few moments later, the two groups were deep in conversation, swapping introductions and stories. Alistair and Carver were chatting together, finding common ground in the fact that they were both following in the shadows of someone else. Hadrian and Arren were discussing on the events surrounding Ostagar. The only person who stood out from the chattering was the Witch of the Wilds who looked up upon this scene with disdain.

She quietly sipped the hot soup given to her by the elderly lady and absolutely refused to acknowledge that the soup was indeed better than her insipid breakfast of charred Prakos and undercooked eggs Alistair had managed to find at the break of dawn. It was through sheer luck that everyone didn't get sick afterwards. Perhaps it was because they hadn't eaten the bloody eggs.

The mother of the siblings sat next to her in contemplative thought. Morrigan wondered on how long it would take before the same old questions of 'who are you' and 'where did you come from' would dribble in.

"You are a Witch of the Wilds, are you not?"

Morrigan almost spat out her soup and she had to quickly swallow the hot liquid, wincing as it burned its way down her throat.

"And what if I am?" She challenged the older lady. "Your two children are apostates."

"Yes, and I won't have it any other way." The older lady said resolutely. The old lady threw her an answering challenging glare and Morrigan was pleased to see that some women had backbone these days. "The people here know us. They don't know you."

The threat of ousting Morrigan as an apostate to the stationed Templars wasn't said but the witch could certainly feel it hovering her like a thick blanket. She could take out five or six by herself but a whole company of Templars could take her out, especially if they were well organized.

"But don't worry. You've saved Arren from giving away his father's heirloom, at least one of them anyways."

The mother took another sip from her cup of tea. Morrigan, her curiosity getting the better of her, asked what the heirloom was exactly and why the father wasn't here. Strangely enough, the old lady skillfully evaded the question, giving vague answers here and there. To Morrigan, this woman was hiding secrets and she left it alone at that.

It wasn't until the fourth hour to the dusk that the trio finally took their leave. Hadrian felt it best to look into the local bars and then the chantry for any news about Loghain and the Blight. They were due north no matter the news and Arren seemed genuinely sad on their leaving. Carver had tried to persuade them into staying but the leader of this ragtag group was determined in going somewhere.

Seeing as how this could be their final farewell, Hawke took Hadrian to one side, away from the others. Of course, this prompted suspicions about the two and Alistair felt something tug at his heart when he saw the men whispering covertly to each other. He saw something swapped between hands and heard words like 'father' and 'loss' being exchanged. Did Hadrian lose something more than Fergus out in Ostagar? He knew that people had their secrets but it just bothered him when Hadrian couldn't confide in him about it. Instead, he confided in a complete stranger, who could be a blood mage for all he knows. Then again, Alistair wasn't exactly acing in talking to people about his secrets either. He really needed to talk to someone about it and Morrigan certainly wasn't going to listen to him.

Morrigan, for her part, was tapping almost impatiently until Hadrian finally broke away from Arren

"Are you sure you don't want to go with us?" Hadrian asked. "The darkspawn _are_ coming this way. Don't doubt that."

"We don't want to burden you as it is."

"Well, if you change your mind, we'll be at the end of the bridge tonight."

"Ok, take care." The Hawke family waved them goodbye and as the door closed shut behind them, all three of them felt something had indeed changed. What, they didn't know and they had a strong hunch that this wouldn't be the last time they would see their newfound friends.

-TBC-

Wow, this chappie came really easy to me and I just started typing away. For those following my Transformers fic, dont' fret! I'm still updating it; it's being done very slowly...very slowly as the plot is complicated and I have to sort out some details in my head before I type it out.

As always, I would love to hear your opinions about the story in general; do you like the character analysis? the plot? If you have any ideas or suggestions, please feel free to post it here in a review.

Thanks again for reading! :D

NP


	20. Not Expecting To Meet Me, Are You?

**Warnings: **mild violence

**Ratings: **+ 15

**Review responses**:

The-After-Smoke: Hmm. My mom, whose British, would kick my arse if I introduced her by her first name. I'm just going by what I know of British it's no problem if this is a criticism, so long as it's constructive. I am happy to know that you absolutely 'love, love' this story. :D

Aki: I could do both for you. Anything in particular you like? Kink? Bondage (with consent of course)? Sweet and hot? PWPs or something with some plot to it?

David9999: thank you so much! Yes, I've always been curious at how things change if you meet someone like the future Archdemon slayer or what not. Haven't you always wondered on the what ifs if you did something differently or stayed in a place too long or too short? I know I have.

YoshisSupport: Don't worry. Hadrian will be mated * ahem * I mean paired with Alistair. However, our pointy-eared elf won't like it one bit! Luckily, they have Regus! Umm, which pairing do you want to see you in your one-shot?

Thanks to those who recently placed this on their favs/alerts lists: systaticism and david9999.

As always, thanks for faithful readers. Major hugs and kisses to those who leave something behind!

Not Expecting To Meet Me, Are You?

Hadrian and his group stood outside of the Hawkes' house, trying to figure out where to go and visit.

The Hawke's house was located not far from the taverns and from their vantage point, they could see smoke drifting out like a lazy snake crawling out of its burrow. The smells of food and ale drifted down their way. Both Hadrian and Alistair practically salivated at the thought of fine mead and some _real_ food, unlike the horrible sustenance provided by their now complaining witch. Morrigan snorted at their reactions. She would never cease to be amazed by how fast men could go from the topic of doing what's necessary to food and drink at the blink of an eye.

"Hey, Alistair, how about we check out that tavern?" Hadrian nudged him in the side almost playfully, surprising the templar to see such an open face. _Yes, he definitely should smile more_. Alistair wholly agreed with his friend but Morrigan, being the wet blanket that she is, didn't.

"The tavern is the one place where we should _not_ go, Wardens," she said in an almost patronizing tone. "'Tis a place where tongues waggle at the wrong time."

"I know. All the more reason to go there. If Loghain has passed through here, there's bound to be gossip. What place to hear tongues waggling than a tavern, eh Morrigan?"

The Witch of the Wilds fumed at being outwitted by this man. Never had she met anyone who had a sharper tongue than she. Except mother of course. No one could beat Flemeth in the sarcasm department.

Hadrian was delighted to see the red flush of anger overtake the witch's face. However, being a nice person at heart, he hadn't meant anything mean by it; he was just pointing out the obvious to her.

"Come on, Morrigan. Even you would appreciate a nice warm bed."

With that said, he marched off to the tavens with Alistair happily following him. She watched at how easily they walked together, their steps almost in pace with each other. Then, realizing that they weren't going to wait for her, she let out a few muttered expletives before walking after them, absolutely refusing to have their quickened pace rush her.

Like at the entrance, there was another Templar guarding the front door and he stopped them, asking what their business was here in Lothering. In response to Hadrian's reply of 'just settling in for the night,' the Templar's eyes then riveted to the female mage, a staff neatly strapped on her back.

"And this young woman?"

Hadrian burst into a smile and said, "she's with us. She lost her magi robes from the battle."

Alistair's heart thumped erratically when the Templar appeared to take a closer look at her and declare her an apostate upon inspection. He did no such thing though. Instead, he stayed where he was and granted them entrance to the taverns. Regus had wanted to follow them but was barred from entering. Seeing as how there was no way he could get past the human, he stayed outside, waiting patiently for their return.

The din of the tavern was loud and jarring to Hadrian's sensitive ears, almost to the point of being painful. The place was fully crowded and there were no available seats, tables, or even mere standing room to be found. The clamor of people talking in various tones, from apathetic to sober, drowned out the barely audible sounds of beer being served out to the customers and the crackling of the fireplace.

What was the main focus of Hadrian's attention was a medium-size group of armored men that were just standing there. They all wore the standard uniform of infantry soldiers, garbed in heavy chainmail. The man in the centre of it was attired in the manner of a lieutenant for his armor was made out of slightly superior material than of his men. Unfortunately, they were emblems of a wild boar poised against a white sun and Hadrian tensed.

Alistair stopped next to him and whispered a name Hadrian really didn't want to hear right now.

"Loghain's men."

Before Hadrian could reply, the man in the centre suddenly turned around and accosted them aggressively.

"You there! You look like Grey Wardens!"

"We just wear Grey armor," Alistair joked and he earned a rough elbow in the ribs. "Ow! Well, we do!"

Hadrian glared at his friend but it was too late to take back the insult.

"Loghain said there would be a bounty on the Wardens' heads. He said they deserted the King on the field, leaving him to die out there!"

Everybody started to stare at them at hearing the names of Loghain and the Wardens. No doubt Loghain would have started a rumor to instigate the public's distrust in the old Order of guardians.

"We didn't betray the King. Loghain did by not heeding to the King's signal." Hadrian growled back.

"Watch what you say about Loghain!"

"Gentlemen, please. We can talk this out," a melodious voice interrupted them. A young woman wearing the robes of a lay Sister of the Chantry joined in their 'conversation.' She was quite pretty and tall as well, almost towering Morrigan herself by a few inches. However, the way she carried herself told Hadrian that she was not really a lay sister and he brought up his guard.

"Stay out of this, sister. This is between Loghain and the traitors to the crown!"

"Please stay back, sister," Hadrian's reply to her suggestion was said in a very calm tone, as opposed to the snarl of the lieutenant.

"Men, attack them! Loghain wants them dead or alive." The lieutenant cried out, pulling out his sword and shield. At his word, eight men surrounded the trio, clearly outnumbering them. The lieutanent smirked at how his men easily caused the trio to be encircled but it fell a few minutes later when the business end of a sword was at his throat, the tip cutting into the skin very lightly.

"You wanted to talk, right?" Hadrian's question was emphasized when the tip of the sword went into a little bit deeper and drawing blood. "Talk, now!"

The subdued man gulped at the threat and he babbled on how Loghain marched through here, saying how the King's Army was betrayed from within and the Darkspawn overwhelmed them, thus, forcing everyone north for safety. The man also spilled out news of Loghain's instigation of the Wardens being responsible for the betrayal and that a bounty of 100 sovereigns was placed on each head.

Although the man ranted, Hadrian and his group got the jist of it. Alistair's fists clenched tightly at the thought of the man he used to worship was now blaming them for the disastrous defeat. Hadrian scowled and he almost made a move to finish the man until a pale hand touched him on the forearm.

"Killing him won't bring back the dead," the Sister said in a mournful voice. "and it will only prove Loghain right."

There was no way around her correct conclusion. The last thing they needed was the general public to be openly hostile to them and hindering their journey.

Hadrian put up his sword and waited for the man to clamber up before grabbing the front of his breastplate and pulling him forward only to whisper in his ear, "tell Loghain that we're coming for him and there would be no place to hide when we do so."

The man fervently nodded and he let out a pained yelp when Hadrian released him with a rough push. Not sparing another glance at the man and his friends, he swiftly ran to the exit, leaving behind a very startled crowd of witnesses and two pissed off Wardens.

"Great job, Warden," Morrigan began to say, "now everybody knows you're Wardens."

"Now's not the time, Morrigan," Alistair warned her, seeing how angry his friend was and how close he was to losing his temper. The Witch just rolled her eyes but her snide remark stayed.

Hadrian mentally thanked Alistair for silencing the witch's sharp tongue. He slowed his breathing down and tried to calm himself. _Focus on yourself, on the sounds around you. _His quartermaster's voice breathed in his mind and quickly, his boiling temper was calmed.

-o0o-

The Sister watched with inquisitive eyes the young warrior meditating and trying to compose himself. She had never seen such grace, such skill of arms before. Not even she could possibly hope to win against this man, even with cheating. Who was he?

"Are you ok?" The question was said so softly, so quietly, that she thought that the taller Warden might have asked her instead of the Warden currently looking at her. His eyes had perused over her body but it wasn't in a leery, challenging way, unlike most men.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You're not a Sister, are you? You took out some of those men as easily as if they were children."

"The Chantry accepts all people, as the Maker is wont to do."

"Oh no," the taller blonde warrior whispered to his companion, "we have got a real madhatter here."

"Perhaps I can help you look for Loghain," the Sister suggested and she hoped that this young man would accept her offer of help.

"Why? What can a Sister of the Chantry do for me?" This man wasn't easily fooled and he knew that she used to have some form of combat training. It would take years to get rid of rigid training and discipline one had to go through.

"I have many skills as an Assassin and a Bard," she replied truthfully. Sometimes it was best to just lay out all the cards on the table. However, the reaction she got was unexplainable.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened as if he was restraining himself. Even his companions could see that there was something wrong here. He turned his back on her and said over his shoulder, "I don't need an Assassin's help. Go help the people here with your _skills_."

"Wait! But the Maker!"

"The Maker has abandoned me," came the harsh reply and all three were gone from the tavern, as swiftly and quietly as they had appeared.

There were hushed whispers going around her and even the bartenders were gossiping with their customers. Thankfully, she was careful enough to not give out her name but it was quite hard to forget a redhead Sister of the Chantry. She had better get her stuff ready and attempt to catch up with them before they leave Lothering. The Maker had told her Himself that she was to go with this man, no matter the consequences.

-o0o-

Doing minor quests were an excellent outlet for Hadrian's anger that had suddenly raged through him at the mention of the word _Assassin_. _Assassin is what destroyed my family_. He had stopped by a strange creature that was imprisoned in its cage and its foreign ideas of self-atonement piqued his curiosity enough so as to have him think about freeing the Qunari.

Alistair and Morrigan did not banter for once. Instead they just threw glares at each other, daring one another to break the silence. However, when it got done and dirty, so did they and despite hating each other, Hadrian couldn't help but admire how flawlessly all three worked together.

Alistair worked perfectly as a tank, for an enemy to focus on and dish out the majority of their attacks on him, thus leaving Morrigan ample opportunity to strike her enemies with ranged spells and spam the wardens with an occasional healing. To them though, they much prefer drinking that foul healing poultice than go under her healing spell.

With Alistair distracting the enemies and Morrigan attacking from afar, it left Hadrian room to go in with his two-handed weapon and his attacks proved most devastating, especially to the archers who were targeting Morrigan.

In no time at all, they had managed to clean the outskirts of Lothering off bandits and were just about do another sweep to ensure no stragglers were left behind, when a sharp cry rang out followed by guttural snarls and the clash of weapons.

Also, both Wardens could sense the ominous presence of darkspawn ahead of them and the group ran to the bridge, climbing up the stairs and came upon a scene of two dwarves fighting valiantly but uselessly against an Alpha Hurlock, which was about to finish them off.

"Morrigan, paralyze that one! Alistair take the centre!" Hadrian ordered but it was almost unnecessary for his two companions were in their places already. His anger was slowly being replaced by that of gratefulness at the sight of his two companions working together and by the time they completely dispatched their foes, it was gone for now.

The dwarf huffed and puffed in exhaustion even though the trio did most of the work. His hand wiped the sweat off his brow and he shakily stood up from his hunched over position. A smile broke out on the wide face and Hadrian couldn't help but smile back at the beaming face of the dwarf.

"Thank you, lad! I thought I was gone to see the Maker for a few seconds."

"How did you come by them in the first place?" Hadrian glanced over the dwarf and the one behind him. They looked awfully different from each other. While the one standing before him had a square face with brown eyes covered by a light brown bangs, the one behind him was a clear blonde, with hair cropped close to his scalp. Perhaps they were Master and apprentice. However, most dwarves were in Ozammar so why were these two here, with their broken wagon and crates?

"Me and me son were traveling here from Ozammar until those darkspawn showed up,"

"Oh, well." Hadrian took another glance at the worn-down wagon. "Do you need help?"

"No, no, no. You did a lot just by saving us! We can take it from here."

"Are you sure? What happens if you come across them again?"

"Well, I'm sure someone like you would come around and save us again."

There was no persuading the dwarf into accepting the offered help and so the foursome moved on only to bump into a familiar figure.

The anger that had only just been hidden away rose again at the sight of the Sister. She was in a non-threatening posture but who could tell with an Assassin.

"You again?" Hadrian growled and he almost unsheathed his light dagger but Alistair's suggestion of listening to _Princess Stabbity_ stopped him. If anything else, Alistair could have someone else to talk to besides Morrigan. At least this Sister would listen to him and not chide him for his silly antics.

"Please," the Sister pleaded desperately. "I know you probably don't need my help, but I really want to go with you. The Maker Himself sent a sign to me of this."

"What of the people in the Chantry?" Hadrian couldn't believe how she could so easily abandon those were in truer need of help than him and his friends.

"Everybody has their path to follow. Please let me help you!"

She actually begged him to take her in and Hadrian finally gave in to his request. It was better to know a devil than to have one follow you around. She let out a relieved sigh, as if a great burden was lifted from her shoulders. _I have a bad habit of picking up strays along the way...why is that? Are they attracted to my desperation, my want for revenge? Or is it something deeper?_ Hadrian looked to the skies but if he was trying to find answers in the white clouds hovering above him, they gave none.

-o0o-

The Sister's first usefulness was in supporting Hadrian in his bid for the Qunari's release into his custody. The Cousland warrior didn't particularly wish to impart the Revered Mother with a show of violence, despite his doubt in the Maker and his followers.

The Revered Mother, when they first visited her, was absolute in her decision of imprisoning the Qunari for life. Now though even _she_ seemed unsure of whether she made the right decision in the face of Leliana pleading for Hadrian's case.

"Leliana? What a lovely name." Hadrian's suspicion about the redhead just cranked up a bit. If someone couldn't tell another person their name, then why in the Maker's Pit should that person trust him or her? The warrior tried to keep his tone neutral and waited for the Revered Mother to come to a decision.

"Revered Mother, please be assured that he is a good man and will know what to do with the Qunari."

The Revered Mother paused for a moment, her head bowed in deep thought while her hands tightly clasped with each other. Just when Hadrian thought of leaving her to her contemplation, she raised her head and stepped forward only to stop right in front of the Warden. She opened her hand, a key lying in her pale palm.

"Although I am well within my rights as the Revered Mother to mete out appropriate punishment, I also trust Leliana's word as a Sister of the Chantry. Perhaps the Maker sent you to help me be relieved of this particular burden."

Hadrian didn't know what to stay to that. A burden? She could have easily let one of her Templars execute the Qunari. That would have been a merciful act than to leave him in a cage, helpless to an incoming sword of a bandit or a darkspawn. However, Hadrian simply let her give him the key in which he closed his hand into a fist before politely bowing before the Revered Mother and leaving the room.

Despite being delayed, although it was a welcomed one, by the Hawkes followed by meeting this foreign redhead with an Orlesian accent, Hadrian had managed to get the majority of his quests done before the sun descended to the horizon.

He helped clean the area of bandits as well as looking for certain herbs to help a kind old lady, Miriam, craft some health poultices for those in need of them. A more memorable one that had stood for Hadrian in particular was meeting another little boy who had lost his mother in the wilderness. When the group found her half-eaten corpse that was currently being eaten by wolves, Hadrian had no choice but to put them down, especially when they attacked first. They had the beginnings of a Taint, but it wasn't so strong that it had corrupted them, unlike the creatures they encountered back in the Kacori Wilds.

The memory of the corpse reminded Hadrian of another dead body, one that he saw and inspected on their way to entering Lothering. He managed to extricate a letter from the deceased Templar, a letter which was still folded in his large pouch at his hip. It was addressed to someone named Ser Donall and he recalled hearing someone call out Ser Donall's name in the Chantry.

"What's wrong, Hadrian?" Alistair asked his friend. He could almost feel the gears whirring inside his friend's head. Hadrian looked up thoughtfully and he pulled out a letter, addressed to Ser Donall.

"Ser Donall?" The name sounded very familiar to Alistair and he scrunched his own eyes at trying to remember where he heard it from. _Oh, he's a Knight of Redcliffe. I remember!_

_ "_You know him, Alistair?" Hadrian's eyebrows were raised slightly in disbelief. He didn't know that Alistair would know anybody outside the Wardens.

"Yeah and I think," Alistair scanned amongst the people in the Chantry. The first area had tall bookshelves containing a lot of what Alistair assumed to be books on the Maker and how the world came to be. There were quite a few Sisters hovering around the books but not one refugee lingered in that area. Somehow he wasn't surprised. As a child, he didn't like reading books, especially ones styled in a learning book: boring and dry. Nope, he's not there.

He then turned his gaze to the left and saw the Commander of the Templars stationed there. A nice man who thought otherwise of Loghain's statements against the Wardens and had given them access to a decent amount of weapons and some much needed health poultices. Morrigan grew furious at how he and Hadrian gave one big sigh at the sight of ten poultices.

After seeing the Commander and a few others, none that he recognized to be Ser Donall, he shifted his view to the immediate left for some reason and his eyes lit up in recognition of the man, whose head was bowed in reverence of a small statute that was placed in between two columns of lit candles. There was no mistaking that auburn hair and that weird looking jaw.

"I think he's over there," Alistair pointed out to the praying man and the group walked to him. They heard some muttered words and such. The man, feeling that someone was watching him, turned his head around and a smile broke out at the sight of the blonde man.

"Alistair! Is that you?" Ser Donall threw out his hand to Alistair, who grasped it within his as they shook hands in greeting. "What are you doing here? I thought you were taking your Templar final vows."

"Uhh, that didn't exactly work out," Alistair hastily said and his heart thumped a bit when Hadrian threw a quick cursory glance at him before politely mentioning that he had a letter for the Redcliffe Knight.

"A letter?" Ser Donall's eyes moved as he read the letter and the Knight's face fell. "Oh no. This isn't good. Ser Henric must be dead then if he left this unsealed."

"I'm sorry," Hadrian offered his condolences.

"Thanks. With this news though, I must go back to Redcliffe and report that the sacred Ashes is not here or anywhere within fifty leagues of this place."

"The sacred Ashes?" Both Alistair and Hadrian asked together. Morrigan's lips pursed and she frowned. She didn't like all this traveling around. All she wanted to was just to get the treaties met before marching on to defeat the Archdemon. Doing these stupid minor quests were going to get them nowhere!

She watched with ever increasing annoyance at the Knight of Redcliffe, who with his gestures of hand and a wide range of facial expressions, explained the situation back in Redcliffe. The news of Arl Eamon being poisoned seemed to be vitally upsetting to the _stupidest_ member of the group as well as to Hadrian. She didn't care that he could be an important person to the duo; the inconvenience of one of the most powerful individuals being dispatched like that thought worried her. It would prove troublesome if Arl Eamon were to die and Thedas would ultimately plunge into another civil war if it hadn't already started with King Cailan's death.

Not too long after the initiation of their conversation, the Knight of Redcliffe saluted them with a fist to the heart and he left them to converse amongst themselves.

"I believe we probably should out to the circle first," Hadrian advised. "we could use another Mage."

"I will have you know that I am quite proficient, thank you," Morrigan spat back at Hadrian as she took offense to his suggestion. She was taught by Flemeth herself in the old ways of magic. How dare he think otherwise!

"I'm not doubting your capabilities, Morrigan," Hadrian reassured the scowling female witch. "it's a backup in case you're compromised."

"C-compromised? Explain."

"In case you die somehow. We're not exactly mages either if you haven't noticed."

"Yes, I've noticed, plenty of times when you lot just throw yourselves at the enemy without thinking!"

"Really? What do you think, Alistair?" Alistair just shrugged his shoulders. It was bad enough that Morrigan disliked him even in the best of her moods.

"Fine, have it your way, Wardens. Let's hope you are right in going to the accursed Circle of Magi first to procure an enslaved, groveling mage for you."

She turned on her heels sharply and before Hadrian could say something, she marched out of the local Chantry with a huff.

"Uh, I didn't mean to be offensive," Hadrian said, confused by the Witch's temperament.

"Oh, don't worry about it. She's just upset that there maybe somebody else doing magic instead of her. Of course, we could do a healer though. Ouch!"

Hadrian laughed at how Alistair pulled off a hurt wince when he rubbed his ribs. Ah yes, he remembered that point when Alistair was thrown back into a tree by one of the scouting parties for the Darkspawn. His collision with the tree proved so detrimental that half of his ribs were broken. However, Hadrian knew that Morrigan's healing spells hurt worse than most of the wounds the two warriors received. Her spells were horrible and it would often leave the patient even more groggy and in pain than initially.

"Yeah, you have a point there! She definitely does not have a healer's touch! Come on, let's get out of here before we lose the only healer we have now."

The two Wardens exited out of the Chantry and found the Witch waiting for them by the Qunari prisoner. She had her back turned to both them and the prisoner, watching the sinking sun with a dulled expression. She never acknowledged their presence, not even when Sten was let out and was thanking them very curtly for his release. The only time she said something was when the funny sounding redhead remarked on how noble the Qunari was.

"Such an exquisite sense of honor and duty!" Leliana was clearly admiring the newcomer with newfound admiration and curiosity.

"Yes, and dogs are treated better by them than the mages they leash."

"Honestly? I've always heard rumors about them but I can't scarcely believe them!"

If Sten had any opinions about two humans talking about his race, he did not express any. He merely walked amidst his new companions, his head still held high despite his deeply troubled mind on his lost sword, which no doubt would land in the hands of some mangy thief.


	21. Change of Plans

**Warnings(s): **None that I can think of, except maybe language.

**Rating: **Teen

**Review responses**:

YoshisSupport: Yes, I'm a total perv too! I think a threesome would be so hot!

David9999: Thank you very much! :D Eventually, Sten will grudgingly respect Hadrian and the only DLCs shown in this chapter are _Return to Ostagar, Soldier's Peak,_ and _The Stone Prisoner_. I haven't played the other four yet so they most likely won't show up here.

Aki: Yes. Actually, I was strongly considering in doing a collection of smut involving various couples. How does that sound? Your request fics will be included of course. :D

Thanks again, everyone!

A Change of Plans 

The group, which had increased from three people plus a dog to now five people, were heading in the direction of the end of Lothering's bridge. The sun had already descended down to the horizon, plunging the town into twilight. While the leader of this misfit group was happy to be out of the town, he was at the same time anxious. Would Hawke be there to meet them? If so, then his journey would be more interesting than ever and more arduous as well. It was difficult enough with Morrigan and Alistair going at each other like rabid wolves. Now, he had to contend with a suspicious redhead and a noble Qunari who only wanted to atone for his killings of the farmers that were unfortunate enough to be in his path.

Having four more people traveling with them would, truthfully, burden him but Hadrian liked the elder Hawke sibling. He felt a sense of kinship with him and had wanted to know more about the man. Oddly enough, he wasn't sexually attracted to Arren; he wasn't even sure if the man swung that way to be begin with. Being _fey_ wasn't exactly easy for nobles.

They had been waiting for the Hawkes for almost two candlelights. As time passed though and with his group getting increasingly agitated, Hadrian knew that he couldn't stay on any longer. Even Alistair was growing rather impatient as he fingered the hilt of his sword and eyed the newcomers with a wary eye.

"Why must we wait here?" The tall Qunari finally asked. "Shouldn't we be taking our leave now? This town offers nothing but hypocrisy and bigotry."

"He's waiting for someone, the way two lovers have a rendezvous," Morrigan grinned like a cheshire cat, something that Hadrian did not appreciate.

"We're _not_ lovers!" Hadrian ranted angrily at Morrigan. A vein popped into his forehead. Leliana giggled at the sight of the stoic Hadrian and Morrigan arguing with each other on the terms of the relationship. Sten just grunted in great annoyance at how extensive humans could be in expressing feelings.

"Anyways, they're not coming," Hadrian said a few minutes later, his face more serious. "we're moving out."

He walked ahead of the group and his companions fell in behind him. Alistair spared a last glance behind him and he couldn't see anything running after them. Although he was happy to see that the Hawkes weren't following them, a small twinge of regret tugged at his heart. He much rather endure this odd feeling of something in seeing them together than the disappointment shown on Hadrian's face.

Someone had called his name and he knew by the slight tenors of that voice that it was Hadrian who had called him out. He turned to the group and found that they were still walking away from him. _Better go and catch up before they really leave me behind!_ With that thought in mind, Alistair hastily went after them.

It didn't take the group too long to procure a spot to camp for the night. Hadrian's eyes scanned the area they had come upon a few moments later.

There was a nice flat area located just off the trail and the still smoldering embers of a campfire indicated that someone had previously used this site. At first Hadrian thought it might have been bandits that had recently left their abode but the wagon tracks left in the packed dirt said otherwise. _Must have been merchants or something_. Other than those two signs, Hadrian could see no other evidence of someone having been here.

He learned from his experiences that it was a bad idea to camp right after someone else. The campsite, warm and welcoming, would lure in unwary travelers and leave them vulnerable to bandits and thugs, who would be waiting in the shrubs and trees for an opportunity to ambush them.

Taking a quick glance at his group, Hadrian smiled. With three warriors, an Assassin, a Mage, and a Mabari whose sense of smell was unrivaled, the Cousland warrior doubted that any group of unruly thugs would want to even think about attacking them. Additionally, he felt bad for making his companions wait so this was an ideal time to settle down for the night.

By the time everyone had their tents set up, the moon was almost at the apex of its course in the clear sky. Also, two certain dwarves showed up in the midst of it. The sounds of the wagon wheels grinding into the dirt alerted everybody, who came out of the tent, ready for battle if necessary.

"Whoa! We are not here to hurt ye!" Bodahn yelled, his hands swiftly coming up to show that he bore no ill will towards him. "Son, bring ye hands up!"

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked innocently, not treating the scene of armed warriors with great care as he slowly brought his hands up.

"Not this time, me boy!"

"Bodahn? Sandal? What are you two doing here?" Hadrian was completely taken aback by the two dwarves, who still held their hands up. Realizing that his comrades were still armed, the young Warden sheathed his weapon, thus indicating that the visitors were not hostile. In fact, they were more than welcome if the grin breaking out on Hadrian's face meant anything by it.

"We just happened to be on our way to, umm, yes, to Denerim." Bodahn's voice hitched but everybody could easily tell that he was lying.

"You were following us, weren't you?" Hadrian didn't need any more people adding to his merry band of men and women.

"Yes, we thought that merchants like us are less prone to robbery and murder in the presence of you and your friends."

"You can put your hands down." Hadrian pointed at their still raised hands and Bodahn's blush, if it were daylight, would have been a comical sight indeed, especially on one of the dwarves' face. "And you don't have to lie to me. My friends and I won't hurt you."

"I know; otherwise you would have let those nasty darkspawn have us."

"Well, you can stay with us; I can't guarantee you that it'll be a life of luxury for you, but you and your son will be safe with us. We'll talk more about it when dawn breaks."

"Thank you so much, good ser! Yes, we'll make sure to stay out of your way! Come on, boy! Let's take this monstrous wagon over here." Bodahn clasped around the wagon handle while Sandal held unto the other one.

Together they lifted the wagon and pulled it off to the side of the main campsite.

Satisfied that the two dwarves didn't need his help and were just getting along fine, Hadrian headed back to the campsite. His new companions had already gone off to bed, apparently fully trusting that Hadrian could take care of his own person. The only person standing outside was Alistair who was warming his hands next to a small-sized bonfire.

The templar almost looked sad, his eyes staring gloomily at the flickering flames. His body was hunched in slightly and Hadrian was sure that if Alistair stayed in that position for too long, his back and legs were going to be sore afterwards. Was something bothering his fellow Warden?

"Alistair?"

The older Warden looked at him in response and there was a smile there, but Hadrian knew it was a fake one.

"Is everything ok?

"Yes. Just tired, that's all."

"I can take first watch," Hadrian offered.

Alistair shook his nod in disagreement. "I'm already up. Besides, I'm not the one who has to walk up early to talk to those two over there." He gazed in the direction of the two newcomers.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning."

Alistair bid his friend goodnight, watching him enter the tent. After the sounds of settling into bed quieted down, the remaining Warden stared back into the flames, thinking of just how long this journey might take and where it may take them.

The night passed uneventfully for the sentinel and he too was about to nod off when he heard a quiet moan followed by sounds of thrashing. His eyes snapped open and he clambered onto his feet, thinking that the darkspawn may have discovered where they were holed up and had just offed one of his friends. When no attack came, his guard relaxed. However, the moans continued and he realized that it came from Hadrian's tent, set off to the right of the bonfire and closer to the exit of the campfire.

Should I go and check up on him? Maybe I should stay here…he could be…

While Alistair was a virgin, he was of course not naïve enough to know what boys do in their own time and with their own hands. In fact, he was guilty enough of it himself and his cheeks flushed when he for some reason imagined Hadrian doing that particular act. _No! Don't think of that!_

He pinched himself very hard and he let out a sharp hiss of pain. Only the dog, Regus, woke up, its ears perking straight up and alert, black eyes roving over him and the tent. Seeing no immediate threat to its master, Regus' head laid down and the Mabari returned to its interrupted slumber.

There was another soft cry, but it was of someone's name, followed by hiccuping sounds, as if the lad was crying in sleep. Alistair couldn't take it anymore and he slowly strolled into the tent, fully aware of Regus watching his every move. Alistair wasn't fooled by how lazy the Mabari was acting lately for he had personally seen the canine in action. Its powerful legs would propel him forward unto his enemies who would be unfortunate enough to have their last sight on Thedas be a Mabari tearing their throats out. Its hide, although incomparable to human armor, was strong enough to at least soften the blows of clubs or other weapons.

His friend was indeed crying in his sleep and he could hear him mumbling incoherently. Names like Fergus and his parents escaped his lips. Maybe he was missing his family? Alistair's eyes drifted from the man to his belongings, which were sparse. A sword was lain at the side of the cot, on top of a shield with a peculiar coat of arms etched on it. _A Wolf? So he really is a Cousland. I thought he was a vassal of the Couslands. Now it all makes sense._ _No wonder he was searching like a madman for Fergus earlier!_

Only the immediate family members were permitted to bear the arms of their family. Those working for them were given shields with a lesser noble symbol. For example, King Maric and his son both bore the shield of twin lions while those in their personal Bodyguard entourage held shields with a golden sun wielded into the sheet of metal.

Hadrian shifted in his sleep and he curled into a fetal position. His moans had disappeared, as his presence soothed him of his pains even in sleep. Happy that his friend's face relaxed into a more peaceful expression of sleep, Alistair began to step out.

As if on cue, the moans started again and his friend thrashed around again. The templar sighed. The Maker certainly was picking on him today. _You make your own path, Alistair Theirin_. The little boy's voice rang out inside his head. He almost forgot about that odd dream. _My own path? I don't even know where to start!_

He hovered between the interior of the tent and the outside. Regus was now on all fours and had padded his way to the Templar. He gave such an odd look to the Templar, almost as if he knew what the man was thinking. Then he walked inside and let out a small whine at sensing his master's distress. Alistair watched at how the Mabari could be so affectionate towards a man. A pink tongue lolled out of its mouth and it licked a sweaty fist in comfort.

The affectionate gesture calmed the man down a bit and a hand unclenched itself from where it was grasping the sheet. Another lick and soon the hand itself fully relaxed, opening up the palm and exposing itself to more licks from Regus.

Seeing his master go more relaxed, Regus circled around the spot several times before laying down. Before it did so, it gazed at Alistair again, as if saying _I'm watching you, human_ before closing its eyes and then, to all appearances, falling sleep.

Alistair left the tent and he saw that a crescent moon had hung gloomily in the dark sky. It was going to be long night.

-o0o-

Arren Hawke had every intention of going to meet with the amiable stranger he had befriended earlier that day. His sister wholly supported him in his decision but both his mother and Carver opposed the idea outright.

"We've just managed to settle down and now you want to move on?" She practically screamed at him. "Your father sacrificed everything for us to get this life and now this?"

"Mum, the Darkspawn are coming this way. You've seen it yourself when you went back with Bethany to get me and Carver."

His mother's face paled at that and Arren thought she was going to pass out. She was a tough woman though and she scowled, her brows furrowing in strong disapproval.

A tense silence came upon mother and son, which was later broken by a door bursting open and revealing a familiar face and a not so familiar person.

"Carver!"

"By the Maker! He's heavier than he looks!" Carver struggled to keep a hold on the limp man, who emitted a weak moan. "A little help here, please?"

Arren Hawke rushed over to the pair immediately and aided his brother in lying the stranger down on the wooden floor. He, like his sister, wasn't a professional healer, but he had enough experience to know through inspection that the man had suffered quite a few internal injuries as well as some broken ribs and his leg seemed to hang out of place. To make it even more interesting was the crest of the armor the senseless man wore.

"This man is a Cousland!" Arren exclaimed, his hands brushing the slick blood off the chestplate. Both Carver and his mother gasped at seeing the bloodied features of a wolf's head.

"Isn't that the same one found on your friend's armor too?" His mother asked, the anger gone and replaced by that of a motherly concern. "Where's your sister, Bethany? She could help you in healing this man."

"She was helping Miriam out in making more health poultices." Arren replied. He watched Carver unclasp the buckles of the breastplate and the trio was pleased to see that he bore no penetrating wounds. They all knew that to receive a wound from a Darkspawn's tainted sword would irrevocably seal the poor man's fate. If he had any such wounds, it would have been their duty to slay the man whence he laid. To not do so would have been cruel.

"Thank the Maker, he has no gaping wounds," Carver breathed in relief. He hadn't seen anyone be put to the sword of their friends because of this but reading tales of this did not make it any easier.

"Carver, go and get Bethany. Mother and I should be fine on our own for now," Arren commanded his brother. If Carver had no objections to being ordered around, he kept them to himself. The situation was dire after all, at least for the Cousland man he had found. His brother nodded and quickly left the house in search of their sister.

Meanwhile, Arren knelt beside the man and closed his eyes, gathering the magic in his hands. He felt a warming sensation in his hands and then imagined the body in his mind. There, he saw a multitude of contusions and internal bleeding. How the man survived this was a mystery even to him. However, in his examination of the Cousland man, he stumbled unto something he had never seen before.

In every being, regardless of race, was an aura and the hues depended on the temperance of the owner. Green was the common colour found in a typical man, sometimes tinged with orange and even red, due to the sudden passions that would overtake him, whether it be passions of desire or rage. Elves had a bluish tinge often associated with them while the Keepers were gray. In the dwarves, theirs was a murkey brown, as if their association with the stones they worked with had bled even into their very souls.

But this man, this man's being was blue but it was streaked with silver hues. He had never seen such a combination of colours before. In the books he had read about the Fade, the only ones who could possibly have this were mages for they were closer to the Fade than any other being. _Could he be an actual abomination? But this, this is unheard of!_

Piqued by this oddity, he focused his will and tried to get closer to it. He tried to reach for it but something stopped him or rather a voice stopped him.

_Hawke, aien no volae_

He startled at the voice and there apparating itself in front of him was an adolescent boy, his blue eyes looking piercingly at his own.

_I don't…I don't understand…_ He said to him.

_Save this man._

_ What?_

_ Save this man and seek out the caged one. _

_Caged? Him?_

Arren was even more confused by all this. The little boy was starting to disappear, his essence melting into the silver strands before disappearing entirely. _Wait! I don't understand! The Caged one?_

_ Go to Amaranthine. Seek him out._

Arren's eyes snapped open and he found that he was no longer sitting by the patient but lying in another bed, as if he was a patient too.

"Arren? Are you ok?" Bethany's face swam into his view and he could see the concern swimming in her soft brown eyes.

Arren slowly got up from the bed and, from the moonlight shining into his room, found that it was already nighttime. _Maker! They were supposed to meet with Hadrian and the others!_ His eyes alighted on the other bed, where his mother was bathing the man's face, singing softly while doing so.

"How is he?"

Bethany turned to the duo. "He's doing much better now. The majority of his injuries were healed by the time Carver and I returned."

She saw her brother frown and continued speaking. "You collapsed over him and mother was extremely frantic. She said you kept saying 'Amaranthine,' Arren."

"Oh."

Arren's monosyllable reply had Bethany think that maybe he struck his head too harshly when keeling over before. She felt his body temp by placing a hand on his forehead. He wasn't abnormally hot but not cold either. Maybe he was just confused still.

She pulled back her hand and discovered that Arren had dozed, his soft snores emanating quietly into the little room they were all in.

Carver walked in on them, carrying a small tray of food and drink.

"Still asleep?" He asked as he offered a cheese and meat sandwich to her, along with a cup of water. She placed her items on a little tableside that was close by and brought up the blanket, tucking it neatly around his shoulders and underneath his chin.

"He woke up a few minutes ago," she replied and her mind worked around the reason behind the recent events. She had a strange feeling that they weren't supposed to meet these men, first Hadrian and now this Cousland man, who caused her brother to mumble that name. Amaranthine was far away from Lothering, almost six months of traveling easily and that was by horseback. Then again, she and her brother had been working on a teleportation spell…

"Bethany, what are you smiling for? Are you up to something?" Carver's tone was playful and she regarded him in a cheeky manner.

"I think I know what we're going to be next and we better start packing now."

Carver raised an eyebrow and Bethany could feel almost the confusion coming from her twin brother. Oh yes, this part was going to be fun. If only she and Arren could figure out how to teleport without losing pieces of themselves, they all should make it to Amaranthine in just a day or two.

-TBC-

Ok, I know you all have questions to be had but the only way to get them answered quickly enough is for you to present them to me. I can't read minds, but that would be a cool ability to have, ne?

Also, don't forget to vote for who will earn Fergus' heart. I only have ten voters... I'm sad. For Fergus/Zevran lovers, you better vote now otherwise Zevran will be very lonely...


	22. We're Off To See The Wizards!

**Warning:** None that I can think of.

**Rating**: +15

**Review responses**:

the kid: Don't worry. The Couslands' love for anybody will be slow in coming as they are still grieving for what happened that night.

YoshisSupport: I thought it would be more realistic to have the attraction between them start out slow and steady rather than 'bam! I really love you, now.' And yes, I am setting up for a story after this one, but it'll depend on how everybody likes the Hawkes in this story.

David9999: Hmmm. That is a good question about the Awakening part. To be honest, I'm not sure yet. If so, this story will be novel-length and require a lot of patience. Hope you're up for that! :)

Alasse Telrunya: Yes! Another Hawke/Anders fan! M!Hawke right? I am strongly considering pairing Fergus with Zevran, since the elf is from Antiva as was his wife. Then again, who's going to carry on the Cousland name? I think I'll scare readers away if I do Mpreg. Hmmm...

Aki: Hawke will still be the Champion of Kirkwall. He'll leave Lothering way before the Darkspawn overrun it. We all want a chibi Alistair! He's so cute when he's flustered and hot when he's angry. Yes, I foresee a lot of smut between Hadrian and Alistair in this story, not to mention other pairings as well.

Dragon Age Fan: I haven't decided on whether or not the Hawkes will stay in this storyline or not. However, a Fergus/Bethany is an interesting pairing. I'll defn keep that in mind while I'm tallying votes for Fergus.

Btw (by the way), including the votes placed in reviews, Leliana and Zevran are tied. Deadline is fast approaching! (4 chapters away!) **Vote now**!

Chapter 22: We're Off to See the Wizards!

Hadrian woke up, looking more tired than ever. Deep circles decorated the bottom of his eyes, giving him almost a ghoulish appearance. He didn't really sleep the majority of that night as nightmares and hopeless dreams plagued him. There was an instance where he felt calmed though and when he opened his eyes that morning, he saw Regus sitting by his feet. Perhaps it was his Mabari friend that had come and guarded him even for only a brief moment.

He noticed that his sword and shield were out, with the family emblem observable to anyone coming in. His mother had given him that sword on that dreadful night and originally he hadn't wanted to use it, fearing that it would bring back memories he didn't particularly want to see. With all the blood it had consumed though, the blade itself had shown signs of wear and tear. There were some parts of it that were chipped away and a dull sheen covered the steel tongue, despite him having cleaned it every day since then. He really needed to buy another weapon.

Unfortunately, his close escape from Howe's clutches only permitted him to carry the essentials and the small pouch of money had room for 100 sovereigns only. He could have carried more but the clinking sound of money was like a beacon to every thief and desperate man in his vicinity. The last thing he needed was to be outdone for by a common beggar.

Maybe Bodahn would have a good sword for him to use and he could reserve his family sword for Howe's head.

Hadrian dressed himself into fresh clothes, another essential item that he packed, and stepped outside to find the campsite already alive with his companions moving about. The small bonfire from last night had decreased to pathetic little flames that barely covered the burning pine needles found nearby the campsite. Leliana was busy polishing her daggers by the campfire and she greeted Hadrian with a gentle smile. Sten though did not say anything to Hadrian. In fact, he barely acknowledged him with little more than a deep stare, giving Hadrian an impression that his mind was off somewhere else.

There was another campfire located a little further out and behind the dwarves' wagon. A small tent stood by some small shrubs and Hadrian could tell that the figure moving in and out of the tent was none other than Morrigan. Her skimpy clothes were like a marker to her. No female in their right mind would wear such an outfit without having a decency to blush or feeling cold.

The cold winter was coming. He could sniff it in the breeze. Great. Now not only does he need new weapons, but probably clothes too. Maker, at least at the Castle, they had spare clothes and blankets to be had in abundance.

The only person not found at the camp was Alistair and Hadrian grew worried. Wasn't Alistair supposed to keep watch? Then again, there was a Qunari standing still as a statue in the middle of the camp. Perhaps his friend was in his own tent.

He walked by Alistair's tent, which was set up between him and Leliana's, and saw movement occurring within. A second later out came Alistair already dressed in his chainmail armor, looking suspiciously afresh and smelling very clean, with a hint of something tantalizing underneath the clean odor.

"Hadrian? You're up already?"

His question confused the older Warden. Of course he was up! He promised Bodahn that he would go and talk to him at the break of dawn!

"It's two candlelights past dawn." Alistair nudged in the direction of the sun, which was almost in the middle of the eastern sector of the sky hemisphere. "Bodahn came by earlier but you were still asleep."

"I see," Hadrian replied and he rubbed his face tiredly with his hands.

"You ok?" Hadrian inwardly laughed at how that same question was thrown back at him.

"Yeah. Just-"

"Tired? I know. A lot of things happened lately," Alistair replied, understanding the reason for his friend's fatigue. "Food's ready though."

"Hmm? Food?" Oh crap. He forgot to hunt last night. He must have been really out of it.

"Don't worry about it. Apparently, Princess Stabbity knows how to track and hunt herself. See?"

A small pot of stew was bubbling quite nicely on top of a contained fire and Hadrian became confused when before he couldn't pick up the now aromatic smells that drifted towards his nose. He really needed a pot of good Antivan coffee. Antiva was not only known for being the best cheese maker but also for their local coffee. Their smooth coffee roast wasn't only praised by the locals but all of Thedas as well.

"Oui," the redhead affirmed and beside her laid three rabbit skins, freshly cut and now in the process of drying. _So that's why she was polishing her daggers_.

"Thank you for cooking," Hadrian said very courteously. Then he whispered to Alistair in a very quiet voice. "Is it good?"

"Wha? Oh yes! Much better than Morrigan's!"

Hadrian groaned and his hand slapped against his face when Alistair did _not_ whisper in reply. In fact, he said it so loudly that even the dark-haired witch in the back was glaring at them. If looks could kill, they would both be dead.

The redhead laughed in her mellifluous pitches. "Why, thank you Alistair! It's always been my favourites! Rabbit brains are a delicacy in Orlais after all."

Alistair's face paled and the man hastily ran back to the bushes near his tent. Retching sounds could be heard, followed by Morrigan's laughter and subsequent shout of 'You deserve it!.'

Hadrian, while feeling a little bit queasy, managed to control the bile that threatened to crawl up his esophagus and out of his mouth. The soup still smelled good but imagining the slimy pieces of that particular organ made even him cringe.

"Would you like some too, Hadrian?" Leliana already had a small bowl of soup in her hand and Hadrian really wanted to say 'no' but couldn't. He reluctantly accepted it, not wanting to hurt her feelings. She did after all go through all the trouble of hunting and skinning the rabbits.

"Enjoy!" She said cheerily before turning her back on him, not seeing the man toss his soup at the side. The soup unfortunately landed on Regus, who was just walking his way to the fire. The Mabari yelped in pain and in retaliation, he headbutted Hadrian in the thigh not so gently, causing Hadrian to trip backwards and saying a couple of expletives that would have made a Revered Mother blush like a schoolgirl.

"Maker's Pits, Regus!" Hadrian shouted as he climbed to his feet. Regus growled back at him, not at all intimidated by his master. Hadrian snarled and Regus suddenly whimpered, clearly knowing who was the alpha of the pack. Looking chagrined at his canine's friend, he sighed and roughly slapped him on the rump, prompting Regus to jump at him and wanting him to pet him more. "Go away, mutt! I have to talk to Bodahn now!" The words were harsh but not the tone. Regus gave a small yip of acknowledgement before padding away to where Alistair was. _Regus can take care of him_.

Apparently, the two dwarves could cook as well for the smells of cooked rice with rosemary and thyme added to it wafted to his nose, causing his stomach to growl, despite the recent nausea that had erupted from Leliana's dish.

"Oh, you're up! I can see you that you're eyeing our breakfast," Bodahn said in a cheerful manner and, ust like Leliana, he offered the man a small bowl of rice with some strips of meat strewn across the top. _It does smell delicious._ "Sandal, fetch some utensils for him."

"Okay," Sandal replied back in a very slow way. Hadrian wondered if maybe Sandal was slow in the head or something.

Half of a candlelight later, the three of them sat down, talking and eating. Hadrian found that he rather liked the two dwarves, despite their secrecy to 'collecting' things from dead people. Practically ruled over anything else though if the objective was to survive and Hadrian told Bodahn, whose mouth was currently stuffed with his breakfast, he didn't mind so long as it wasn't from them or living people.

"Thank you so much, ser! You are a very good man."

The grateful dwarf beamed at him again and it gave Hadrian a warm feeling. There were some good people in this world after all.

"By the way, do you have any swords that I could use? Mine's done for and I need to have it repaired."

"Why, I'm glad you asked. In fact, I just traded with a merchant not too long ago,"

"Trade?" Hadrian raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, trade this time." Bodahn fervently nodded his head and, after placing his plate down, went off to the side of the wagon. It was kind of funny to see a tiny dwarf trying to clamber in the back of the wagon, emitting curses and other foul things, while searching for something. There was an 'ah ha' exclamation and the little dwarf climbed his way out and down to the ground.

In his hands was a longsword sheathed in a shiny leather scabbard. It didn't look like it saw much use in times of war for the leather was still in pristine condition. Hadrian unsheathed it and discovered that the blade was whole and untarnished with the usual scratches and pockmarks found on weapons that were used extensively on the battlefield.

"How much?" Hadrian asked, his eyes still inspecting the quality of the sword and scabbard.

Bodahn's eyes peered down in deep thought and the dwarf made a 'hmmm' sound.

"Since you were so kind to let us stay, how about 3 sovereigns?"

"That's a good price for a new sword. Here, I'll give you 4. It should cover any food expenses."

Coins tinkled in warm palms as the transaction occurred between friends.

"Well, ser. Where do you plan on going next?" Bodahn's question threw him off guard for a moment. Yes, that's right. The Darkspawn were coming and the first village in their destructive path was Lothering, which was not too far from where they had camped. Damn. Always have to be on the move. It was moments like these that made him wish it was all a dream, that he would wake up and find himself wrapped up in his wooly blankets back at home. _Home._

"Ser? You're alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just tired." He really was getting tired of saying that to everybody. He might as well put a sign on him that says 'I'm just tired. Now bugger off!'

"We need a healer in our party," Hadrian said. "I think the Circle of Magi would be our next destination."

"Oh really? That's a long way! It'll take us two weeks to get there."

_Two weeks? Maker's pits, the full moon will be here in seven days…_Already he could feel the itching sensation he would experience when the full moon was close by and his senses were getting sharper by the hour. He could almost smell the scents of the people around him. Bodahn and Sandal both smelt of earth and rock. It didn't surprise him since they were dwarves.

There were other lingering smells around him. The fresh scent of lavender and honey suckles were almost dominated by those of the Qunari. Then there was something else, something that burned his olfactory senses but in a good way. He couldn't tell from which the scent came from and so he locked it away for future use.

"Yes, which means, we better head out now. Pack your things and be ready before Midday."

Hadrian gave him a brief bow, to signify that the conversation was at an end and his subsequent leave. Both Bodahn and Sandal watched with curious eyes at their new sponsor and protector. The Paragons were indeed watching over them and Bodahn was never a dwarf to test his Paragons' patience by idling.

"Come on, me boy. Help me with this, will you?" Sandal gave a chirped reply. He happily helped his father douse the campfire and pack their various items into the wagon.

-o0o-

Traveling with a dark-haired witch and a templar was hard but amusing enough for the man taking lead. Going to the Circle Tower with an Orlesian redhead and a Qunari as well made it even more hilarious than Hadrian ever imagined.

By Midday, when the sun was at its highest point in its celestial course, the troupe was ready to head out. No one had really protested against going to a tower full of possibly crazed mages. No one except for Morrigan.

She was absolutely livid and Hadrian couldn't see why. She was to see other people with magical abilities, people like her. What was so wrong with that?

"I think it's rather demeaning for those with powerful abilities to be caged in like dogs," she opined, her topaz eyes glaring dangerously at the man who told her that she was going with him instead of asking her politely. "People should fear us."

Hadrian sighed in exasperation. She may complain a lot but she does often hit on the right points, especially on issues concerning mages and the abusive power of the Templars. He wondered if his own friend, Loren, was doing well. The last time he saw him was well over five years ago or more. Even now, the images of the imprisoned mages with their Templar dogs watching their every move made him shudder with revulsion at how quick a man could be demoted in society just because of his existence.

"Morrigan, like I said before, it's to get a healer. You should know by now that you excel in destructive arts, _not_ the healing ones."

The witch crossed her arms beneath her bosom rather crossly. Maybe he shouldn't make her angry. She is still a Witch of the Wilds after all.

"Fine," she said, giving in to Hadrian's tactful persuasion on her joining them. "But if I see even one Templar make a move on me, I'm turning him into a toad!"

Sten, like Morrigan, also challenged him but for a different reason. The Qunari had been waiting for him patiently by the doused campfire. He was still clad in plain farmer's clothes, probably the same offered by the Revered Mother to cover up his heathen markings upon his discovery and then imprisonment. He bore no weapons but from the way his muscles flexed and tensed when moving, Hadrian could tell that Sten was not to be taken lightly in combat. Then again, neither was he.

"You are a strange human."

Well, that was one heck of a greeting.

"Uh, yes. So people have told me before," Hadrian replied, a little bit perplexed by Sten's statement.

"You carry yourself with noble intentions but are surrounded by people lesser than you."

Hadrian's eyes got big by that truthful statement. How did Sten know he was a noble? He had taken great pains into not exposing his tragic heritage. Maybe Alistair's tongue slipped. However, Hadrian couldn't recall his friend conversing with this six-foot monstrous being. In fact, Alistair was with him that entire time, using him as a shield against Morrigan's verbal assaults.

"These people aren't lesser than me," Hadrian said firmly. Despite being born a noble, his father made a great effort to inculcate the idea that being born a noble doesn't necessarily mean people will follow you. _To be a leader, you must first serve and protect_._ That is a Cousland's first duty_.

"Be that as it may be, since you have released me from my cage, I promise you my blade in return."

"I have a spare Greatsword. Do you want it?"

"Unless you much rather have me fight with my bare hands and expire so quickly in battle, then yes I want it."

That was a very long-winded answer for a simple 'yes' but Hadrian brushed it aside, thinking that maybe that was how Qunaris talk.

Leliana and Alistair, in comparison to Morrigan and Sten, were quite enthusiastic in going. Alistair's face was still pale from his vomiting session and Leliana still couldn't' figure out why he had gotten so sick. She was sure she cooked the meat all the way through.

"I heard that the Circle of Magi holds many secrets," the redhead said solemnly while she was cleaning out the pot she had used to cook the rabbit and a various assortment of vegetables.

"Yes, as do all other places," Hadrian replied back. _And other people_.

He watched the redhead, who was quite tall for the fairer sex, pack up her tent and her various items. The amount of stuff lying around suddenly made Hadrian think that they would possibly have to leave some things behind.

As if reading his mind, Morrigan walked up to him and she muttered a few words. A blue light shone from her palm and without warning, it started to suck everything in; the tents, the weapons not currently in use, even the packs stashed ready by the exit of the camp, all flew into the tiny ball of light.

"Hey! That was my cheese that just got sucked in there!" Alistair pouted. His lips and fingers were still covered in cheese crumbs.

"Too bad," Morrigan snipped back, "I got all the packing done in what would have taken you all a few hours at best. Since you are so bent on getting a healer, we need to leave now."

She huffed in indignation and stomped away. Sten regarded her with cold, disgusted eyes but she ignored it; the witch was all too familiar to expressions of disgust and fear on other people's faces.

"That still didn't change the fact that you stole my cheese!" Alistair shouted angrily at her.

"Alistair, don't piss her off. I don't want to travel all the way to the Circle as an ugly toad."

_Ugh. What a daunting thought_. Alistair shook his head in an effort to erase the image of Hadrian as a slimy, big, and fat toad. The toad Hadrian was immediately replaced by that of what he saw the night before and he was horrified to realize that he rather liked the sight. _No! No! Think of him as a toad! A toad!_

Thankfully the set of armor he wore was made out of chainmail, not clothe, and had hidden the growing bulge.

His eyes opened, only to see an amused Hadrian looking back at him. There was a slight wolfish grin plastered on that sun-kissed skin and for a moment Alistair panicked, thinking that Hadrian could read his thoughts. The blue eyes became intense for a brief second before becoming stoic again. What was running in that man's head?

"Let's go," Hadrian said abruptly, shouldering his new longsword and family shield. They were bound to find out one or another about his family so he might as well use it. Plus, it was the _only_ shield he had anyways. _We really need new weapons. I wonder if the Circle of Magi has a trading post there._

Everybody was waiting for the straggling trio and Hadrian threw one last glance at the empty clearing. He felt as if he was leaving something behind or maybe someone. However, Fergus could be lost in the Wilds, dead or alive. It would be a fool's errand to go back now and search for him, not with the Darkspawn roaming around. He lead his group out into the open world with a heavy heart and a weak hope that maybe he would see his brother again.

-TBC-

Next chapter: Fergus wakes up in friendly company and is given devastating news. What will he do now?

Also, with the full moon well on its way, Alistair becomes highly suspicious when he sees Hadrian leave camp and does not come back for hours. Will curiosity kill the cat?

A/N: I'm really sorry if this chapter sounds rushed but I hope you all enjoyed it! Have a good weekend! Thanks again for reading. Review, pretty plz? With a cute Alistair on top?


	23. You Are Who Again?

**Warning: **none that I can think of except maybe language.

**Rating**: +16

**Review responses**:

Aki: I don't think you get heart points for being sarcastic with him. It got me negative points. :(

I like chappies that are light-hearted when it's appropriate. Not quite sure other people like it though. It's a very quiet audience!

YoshisSupport: no full moon here! It is centered on Fergus, as I think he deserves a lot more love than what's been shown in the game. The full moon will defn be in the next chappy!

David9999: Yeah...at the rate this story's going, it's defn going to be novel-length. I hope you'll stick around! And yes, I've already considered doing a sequel to this story that will cover DA 2, but it will be kind of AU. I'm already looking forward to playing DA 3. I want to know why our favourite heroes keep pulling off this disappearing act!

You Are Who Again?

"_Fergus…Fergus…" A feminine voice called out to him in the darkness. The named person groaned and the pain that had accompanied him for the better part of his consciousness was soon dulled by another sensation. A warmth seeped into his very soul and he felt like he could breath easier in the smothering darkness that threatened to keep him in a senseless state for a long time. His eyes opened only to see two familiar faces that made his heart ache out of homesickness. Where was he? Why was he in so much pain?_

"_Look, mummy! He's awake!" Oren's high-pitched voice was like music to the rousing Cousland. He let out another groan and he attempted to sit up only to be forced back down by two pairs of gentle hands._

"_Wha? What's going on? Why are you here?" Fergus was confused. The last thing he remembered was facing an ogre and then being thrown against a tree, only to slump down into a limp heap of bones and muscles._

_A soft hand caressed his cheek and Oriana gave him a sad smile. "You were injured, husband dear." Her accent was wholly welcome to his ears, the Antivan origin clearly coming through her words in how she emphasized certain letters such as 'd' and 'w'. _

"_Is this the Fade? That's the only way I can see you two." Fergus knew that only mages were fully conscious when walking through the Fade. Only they were susceptible to a demon's offer._

_His wife still looked beautiful as ever. Her emerald eyes glittered and were set above a pair of rosy cheeks that framed her face so exquisitely. Whenever she smiled, he felt it go straight through him and if the place was appropriate, he would have taken her and showed her how much he loved her. Oren was a wonderful consequence to one of their couplings and he had always cherished the gifts the Maker bestowed upon him. But their presence in the Fade made the reunion more heartbreaking than it should have. His heart felt as if it was about to break into pieces but he didn't know why._

_Suddenly the worst possible idea sprang into mind and his head jerked upwards, only to see mournful eyes looking back at him._

"_No, you-you can't be!" He was struck speechless and the words of 'you can't be dead!' got stuck in his throat, refusing to come out and thus rending this possibility real._

"_I'm sorry, my dear. I tried-I really tried to fight them off…but there were too many." Oriana's eyes glistened as she sobbed her story out to him and Fergus gathered the both of them in his arms, his own tears making tracks down his cheeks. Oren clutched at his father's waist in a desperate manner, as if trying to console his father by touch alone._

"_But this mustn't deter you from living!" Oriana whispered in his ear. Her breath was still warm and it smelt of lilacs growing in a field, in full bloom of the spring season. "You must live! The world depends on you and your brother!"_

"_Hadrian? He's still alive?" Oriana nodded her head in affirmation and her hands cupped his cheeks. She leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. He could literally feel her love for him pouring through his soul, as if to rejuvenate his downed spirits._

"_There is someone who wants to see you before you wake up, my love," Oriana told him and she pulled back. Fergus felt another presence here; it wasn't malicious or threatening. Instead, it felt oddly familiar and Fergus gasped at the sight of a little boy smiling kindly at him. He looked so much like his little Oren that he rubbed his eyes just to make sure he wasn't seeing doubles. When the boy didn't disappear but rather came closer to him, Fergus noticed that his eyes, unlike Oren's green eyes like his mother's, were of a fiery blue. If they had been red, Fergus would have shouted 'demon!' and shoved his family behind him to protect them._

"_Childe," the boy said to him in a soothing voice. "You are near death. A death such as yours would be a deep blow to your kind, to every living thing. Your brother would mourn you and the deaths of all he knew would irrevocably bring vengeance such as never been seen before in all of Thedas."_

"_Zarieth?" No, this wasn't the Wolf Protector of his family. Despite the boy's small stature, Fergus could feel the an immense power just hovering around him._

"_No," the boy chuckled. "Zarieth has other matters to attend to like your brother. Let's just say I'm his superior."_

"_Why are you here?"_

"_Ah, that age-old question. It seems man is cursed to question every little facet of life instead of enjoying what time they have left. But that is beside the point. I am here to convince you to live on. I cannot make you live; it has to be your choice. But remember the consequences of your actions, good or bad."_

"_I don't…I don't know…" Fergus' head slumped on his chest. He had just lost his entire family. The little boy hadn't explicitly said that his parents were dead as well but he had insinuated it when he told the older Cousland that Hadrian's vengeance would be terrible to behold. Who had betrayed them? The last time he checked, Howe was the only person to have intimate knowledge of the Castle._

_Suddenly, it hit him. Howe, that bastard! He must have done this! What better to have the confidence of a close friend than to backstab him in his vulnerable side and overtake the Castle, the one rumored to have been built on the bones of an Old God from long before._

"_No. I will live on, at least long enough to cut off that snake's head."_

"_That's the spirit," the boy said quietly. "However, that task is your brother's and your brother's alone. You are needed elsewhere. You must retake your home before Howe wakes something that slumbers beneath the stones. There are even worse things than the darkspawn in this world, far worse."_

_The boy pressed the tip of his finger between Fergus' eyes and the man gasped in pain as everything melted together into a dizzying whirl of colours before eventually even the Fade disappeared into the dark abyss._

Eyes snapped open in shock and Fergus reared up from his bed, coughing and then gasping as agony flared in his ribs. He clutched at his torso, which, he just realized now, was wrapped in bandages. The blanket that covered him fell to gather around his lower torso. The dream, was it a dream? His eyes hastily scanned his surroundings and he found that he was lying on a small cot situated next to a wooden wall. Crackles of a fire going could be heard in the next room as well as movements of someone going about. He tensed as the footsteps got louder and there was an older woman, who stared back at him as if he was still supposed to be asleep or maybe even dead.

"Arren! He's awake!" She shouted loudly and Fergus moaned at how it jarred in cacophony with his sense of hearing. _Now I am!_

There was another sound of footsteps and a taller man dressed in mage robes had appeared right behind the elderly lady. Sharp yellow eyes pined him in his spot and Fergus felt as if a great hawk was staring back at him, intent on eating him for dinner. Then the gaze softened and the man called Arren stepped forth, only to kneel at his side and place a cool hand against his. He made a sound of satisfaction and retrieved his hand. The older woman also knelt beside the man, scrutinizing the waking man with a careful eye.

"So, you're finally awake," the stranger said to him in careful tones, as if unsure of whether Fergus had come back with an extra passenger or how he would react to being accosted by two complete strangers.

"I…where…" Fergus' voice croaked and he cursed his weakness. He had to get out of here! He had to find Hadrian! However, these strangers were too close for comfort and he let out another moan.

Thinking that the patient was in pain, Arren's hand came back to lie on his chest and he felt something cool seeping into his bones and relaxing into his muscles. An unintentional sigh escaped his chapped lips in relief.

"Better?" Arren asked him gently.

"Yes…thank you." Fergus rubbed his chest. The strangers were in a non-threatening posture and the concern for him could be plainly seen on their faces.

"You're in the house of the Hawkes. You're safe."

"How did I get here?"

"My brother, Carver, found you. He told me that you just reappeared right outside of Lothering Bridge. You're lucky he was on his way back from his herbal quest when he found you."

Arren saw that Fergus was trying to get out of bed as he told his story. The man was amazingly strong for having just recovered from vast internal injuries and a concussion on top of that. However, Arren did not want to risk his patent going into relapse and he firmly but gently pressed him back down, ignoring the hard glare Fergus was giving him as a result.

"You may be fully healed of your major wounds but I'm not a healer by profession."

_It does explain these bandages. _Fergus again stared at the white cloth that was wrapped tightly around his torso. He suddenly felt bashful at his half nakedness, especially when there was a female here. Quickly, he gathered the blanket and pulled it up to hide his chest. The old woman gave a hearty laugh and she patted him on the head as if he was a little child.

"Don't worry, young man. After taking care of two sons and a daughter, there's little to shock these eyes."

She gave him another pat, but this time on the cheek. Then she rose up from her spot and walked into the kitchen to tend to the meal that was cooking on a small stove. Arren waited for her to exit before turning his attention back on the convalescing man. _How do I tell him that his brother's alive, that they are now the scions of the Cousland Family?_ He sighed. There was no better way to tell someone the truth except do it plainly and compassionately.

He grabbed a tiny stool that Bethany had previously occupied before and sat himself next to Fergus, who was waiting patiently for an explanation to all this.

"Since you have tended to me," Fergus began to say, his voice growing stronger by the minute, "then you must know who I am."

"Yes. You're Fergus Cousland." Arren confirmed.

Fergus' eyes widened when the strange mage knew his full name. "How did you know my first name?"

_Should I tell him that his brother had come before him? Hadrian promised me to do so thus I will keep my promise. _"Hadrian told me."

The name 'Hadrian' almost caused his patient to immediately jump out of bed. Arren had expected a reaction and so was not surprised when Fergus began to bombard him with questions of 'how did you meet him' and 'where is he now.'

Hands were placed in front of Arren to placate the man. When he calmed down and settled back into bed, Arren continued telling his story and gave him the locket that Hadrian had given him. Did Hadrian know that Fergus would come to be here, in his own house? '_Lothering is the first sign of civilization outside of Kacori Wilds. If you somehow see my brother first, give him this.'_ Arren recalled an exchange of tokens. Hadrian had given him the Tears of the Maker, something Arren felt it had belonged to someone special. Meanwhile, Arren himself gave Hadrian one of his father's gifts, as a 'thank-you' for the incident with the bandits.

Fergus' eyes welled in tears again at the sight of the painfully familiar locket his wife had worn. He himself had given this to her as a wedding present and it was no cheap piece of jewelry either. The locket was cut out of gold and Arialla, his family's personal mage, had offered to enchant the locks of hair held within, to where at a mere touch, it could bring up an image of the locks' owners. He did so now and in his mind, he could see the two of them smiling at him, waving their hands in the air as they whispered words of adoration to him.

"So, it's true, then," Fergus murmured quietly, still staring at the locket in disbelief. Perhaps if he willed it hard enough, the images would come to life and he would see them again in person. That was a fool's dream though. The dead don't come back from the Fade. Not ever.

"Yes and I am truly sorry for your loss," Arren's reply was heart-broken as well. He knew too well the loss of someone close to you. The memory of his father dying on his deathbed, begging him to take care of the family in his stead came to the forefront of his mind. However, he pushed it aside.

"Why? You're merely a stranger." It wasn't meant to be rude but Fergus didn't care how biting his words could be.

"A stranger your brother helped out when he didn't have to and the Hawkes are famous for repaying debts, no matter the costs."

"I'm…I'm sorry…" Fergus apologized for his rudeness and Arren just smiled back at him. He couldn't face the stranger. He didn't want the man to see the tears and to perceive him as weak. Perhaps it was a pride thing but it was all he had now, except for Hadrian.

"Hadrian has left Lothering," Arren's voice pierced through the thick fog of his thoughts. "We were supposed to meet with him and his friends in fact until my brother showed up with you."

"Do you know where he is headed?" It was daytime outside. Maybe he could catch up with him before night fell again. His face fell even more though when Arren shook his head in answer to his question. "When did he leave?"

"Two days ago. My family and I are to go to Amaranthine quite soon. Would you like to join us?"

The stranger was extremely kind to offer him a place with his family on their travels. However, one fact kept him from accepting it. If Howe truly was responsible for the deaths of his wife and son, Amaranthine was certainly the one place he did _not_ want to be. That region was Howe's stronghold, where his own Castle stood, overlooking a lush valley with a river running around it and in between tall mountains. If anything, Howe would be vigilantly guarding his house against a slight possibility that either or both Cousland sons had survived Ostagar and would return.

"I can't. Thank you but I can't." Fergus really wished that he could go with them. He was still disoriented by how fast things were moving. "I need to find Hadrian first; perhaps Arl Eamon would know."

"Arl Eamon?" The Cousland eldest saw confusion cloud the mage's features. Who doesn't know Arl Eamon?

"He's the Arl of Redcliffe. An old friend and ally of the Couslands."

"Redcliffe is at least a good few days away from here, and that's by horse."

"I know. But it's the only place I have left now. Plus, I know for sure Hadrian is going to visit him at least once. Perhaps, when I'm there, I'll know what to do."

At first it seemed as if the stranger was going to ask him to change his mind. However, Arren didn't say anything. He stood up, the robes billowing out to where they covered his feet at least. He then started to exit the room, saying over his shoulder, "your things are folded and stored in the chest at the foot of the bed. When you are ready, please let us know before you leave."

Fergus numbly nodded his head and the strange mage left the room, giving Fergus space to grieve over the news now confirmed by his story.

A few candlelights later, Fergus was already up and about, trying to get his stuff ready for his trip. He had already went to one of the stables the village had but their selection in horses were severely limited by their paucity. Only one stallion seemed to stand out and he paid only half of what the horse was really worth.

Upon his return to the Hawke's house, he found the Hawkes had already packed their stuff, at least the stuff they could carry with them anyways. It was rather strange though to see the now empty interior of the house. Where was the furniture? Had they sold everything already?

The Hawkes had convened in the living area, standing and conversing in various musical tones. Bethany, another mage like her older brother, was speaking to the young man standing beside her, whose face was scowling so deeply that frown lines threatened to become permanent impressions on that chiseled face.

"I am still not sure if this is a good idea or not," Carver huffed at his sister.

"Carver, have some sense of adventure! This'll be fun!"

"Yes. I bet father thought so too when he ran away from Kirkwall."

A loud slap reverberated in the air and Fergus felt slightly uncomfortable at the sudden tension between brother and sister. However, it wasn't the sister that slapped the young man but rather the elderly woman standing beside him, a fierce expression on her face that just didn't suit her.

"If it wasn't for your father, it would only be me and you left; your sister, your brother would be kept imprisoned in that Maker-cursed circle, just like your cousins from the Amells!"

"Amell?" Fergus' exclamation disturbed the tension simmering between family members and it gave it a brief reprieve. As if now realizing that another person not of the family was with them, all three of them suddenly looked sheepish, as if they were caught red-handed in doing something wrong.

"Yes. Do you know of them?" Bethany asked of him, curiosity shining in her eyes. They were so green and it made Fergus' heart ache again.

"Yes. We're good friends with them in fact."

"Wow, it's really a small world here," Carver muttered underneath his breath, which earned him a sharp jab from his sister. "Ouch! I was just saying!"

"Be nice, Carver!" Bethany hissed at her uncouth brother. _Maker! He can be a real butt sometimes!_

"Well, what now, brother?" Carver asked his older brother, who was witnessing the whole exchange with an amused grin.

"This is where we part ways," Arren told everyone. He shook hands with Fergus, his grip unusually firm for a mage. If Arren wasn't wearing his father's old robes, Fergus would have mistaken him for a warrior. Arren's body was unusually muscled for one gifted with magic. The sleeve slipped in the handshake and Fergus could see the bulging forearms peeking underneath the slimming clothes.

"You know, we can teleport you with us," Bethany suggested. She really wanted this handsome man to join in. However, Arren had warned her not to press her luck with him, especially not with his family's death still having a hold on his heart. "or maybe we can take you to wherever you need to go to first."

"No," Fergus refused the offer. "I...I have to make the trip alone. I'll be fine. Besides, apostates are hunted down by Templars. You'll definitely get into trouble if you're seen with me. I have many friends who are Templars but I can't say that all of them are as nice as I am when concerning mages."

"He's right, Bethany," Arren assuaged his sister. "Besides, this spell will take a lot out of us anyways. I just hope no one's there to see it or we'll be in lots of trouble."

Bethany sighed. She knew when her brother's right, which was _all_ the time and it was quite irritable. Hasn't Arren ever been wrong? Well, at least she tried. She hugged Fergus and wished him the best of luck. Their mother, Leandra, followed suite while Carver just shook his hand again. What was it with the Hawkes and their iron grips?

Arren was the last one to bid farewell. The tall man confused Fergus to no end. There was something about him, some great power that held him in its palm. Fergus couldn't tell if this was good or bad. He figured it was a good thing as he remembered what Arren had told him earlier in the day before he headed out to buy a horse.

_There was a little boy that guarded your consciousness. He told me to save you and that I have to go to Amaranthine to seek out someone._

"Well, this is good-bye although I have a feeling I will meet you and your brother again. Take care of yourself and tell Hadrian that I've kept my promise. Now, please stand back."

Fergus took a few steps back and the living room started to get warm. Then it grew hotter and hotter, until even he was sweating underneath his armor. A large, transparent bubble grew out of both Arren's and Bethany's hands until it enveloped the four of them. Then, as quickly as it came into being, it disappeared, taking the passengers with it until there was nothing left but Fergus and an empty house.

"Farewell and best wishes," Fergus whispered to no one in particular. Again, a sense of loneliness took over him. However, he had a purpose and with that goal in mind, he set out of Lothering, in the direction of Redcliffe.

-TBC-

A/N: Poll is still open for any who want to vote for Fergus' sweetheart. As of now, if my math is right and including those given in reviews, Leliana is winning so far. So, for any of you who are Fergus/Zev fans, **vote now** and have a say in his future! Either review or go to my profile which will have the poll.

As always, please review! I most certainly do read _all_ of my reviews for all of my stories and it's nice to hear thoughts and ideas from other readers. If you have an idea, say something and I will most certainly consider it!

Thanks,

NP


	24. Moonlight Discovery

**A/N: Yo! Sorry for the late update! Things are kinda hectic right now, with getting accepted into Ph.D program for biomedical engineering and somehow finding the money for it in this awful economy. *shudders* more debt to pay, yay! Anyhoo, onto the full moon chappy! Lemme me know what ya think! **

**Thanks to all who have read and reviewed the story! I really appreciate it!**

**Moonlight Discovery**

It had only been six days and already Hadrian felt tired, perhaps more so due to the anxiety of having to leave the camp for that entire night and then some afterwards than the actual trip itself. The only person who saw him in his demonic form, although Zarieth had said otherwise, was Duncan, who had previously perished several weeks ago. Zarieth had warned him that _no one _should see him on the nights of the full moon. It was part of the contract he and his family had signed. Now, he really wished that Fergus kept his sword in his pants long enough for this particular act to be transferred to him. _He had to go and be physical with some woman!_

Much to his relief, the companions traveling with him weren't too antagonistic with each other. Actually, in Morrigan and Alistair's case, it was rather quiet and calm. The noble human didn't know what to think of that. He figured with the new members added to his entourage of misfits that the bickering would only get worse and much more irritating than before. In fact, the redhead lady was actually talking about her stories in a musical tone, how she found Ferelden to be so different from Orlais and how constrained the habitants seem to be in their sexual wants and appetites. When she started to talk about the sexual freedom the Orlesians had, she was quickly put off by the Qunari's blunt comment of how wrong it was, to seek solace in another's arms, especially if they were of the same sex. Red flags immediately came and started to wave frantically in Hadrian's mind. He had forgotten that the Qunari weren't exactly open-minded to that idea. In fact, the only type, if you could call it that, that was treated worse than the _fey_swas the mage class, who were bound and leashed to their masters. However, Hadrian figured that while the Qunari was going to find out sooner or later, it would keep for now.

Because they were walking at a rather brisk but brutal pace, the Circle of Magi was only a week away. Morrigan had learned the beginnings of a haste spell, but she could only use it sparingly due to her limited supply of mana. He didn't want to burn out their only healer along the way to the Tower. However, on the seventh day, with the moon beckoning her call to him, Hadrian had to make camp.

They had found a small alcove dug into the rock face of a tall cliff that towered over River Dane, a river whose name brought up unwanting memories for both Grey Wardens. Despite the Battle of Ostagar having occurred almost a month ago, the ache of betrayal still burned hotly in their memory. Along the way to their current camping site, Alistair and Hadrian talked about it in quiet voices, away from the others. It wasn't as if they didn't want their travelling companions to hear them, but the trust that had been broken was still slow in repairing itself. In their moments of conversation, both had learnt more of each other's past and soon, they talked as smoothly as ever, without the awkwardness of strangers.

It was in their first one that Hadrian realized what that scent from before was. With the full moon coming to term tonight, his senses were more acute than ever and the scent reminded him of strawberries with whipped cream. Since it was just him and Alistair walking at the forefront, Hadrian was shocked to see that the scent was coming from him of all people. He had thought that it would have come from at least Leliana. Her heart-shaped face with full lips seemed alluring enough for any man, who might consider her to be a fragile flower herself. However, her display of skills proved otherwise and though Hadrian knew that he could take her on without any problems, she would still prove to be a formidable opponent. Morrigan, whom he spent far too long with, reminded him of a Belladonna, a poisonous flower whose exotic appearance clearly warded off any dangers, both potential and actual. Yet, these scents of the females in his camp weren't tantalizing to him to all while Alistair's proved mouth-watering indeed.

However, the unfortunate results of his previous affairs discouraged any further thought of pursuing his fellow Grey Warden. There was a saying that his mother had always told him when she was telling him of her past suitors. _Once bitten, twice shy._ Speaking of which, the observations he had made earlier upon their first meeting came up again and he was startled to discover that his friend looked oddly similar to the deceased King Cailan. Suddenly, the old visage of his former lover's face peered at him from behind Alistair's own face and a soft gasp was emitted, prompting a questioning look from the said Warden.

"Hadrian? What's wrong?"

The voice, the voice was different. It lacked the confident timbre of King Cailan but it was softer and more comforting. Chocolate eyes sought his own blue ones and for once, Hadrian couldn't stand to look at him. The King's face had disappeared as soon as Alistair spoke, but he didn't want to chance seeing it again. He really was over Cailan. That affair was over and done with and too many years had stood between him and Cailan to rekindle those old feelings again. Yet, it seemed that the Maker was bound and determine to make his life miserable again by presenting this subtle attraction. No! Hadrian absolutely refused to fall in love again. It would only end in heartbreak in the end. Why would this be any different?

"Hadrian?" This time, the man stood so close to him that the smell increased in its intensity, overwhelming his already sharp senses. It almost burned him. Why? Why was his body acting this way towards him? He had never felt this awful sensation before, not even with Nathan, his first love.

"It's fine," the Cousland said a little bit too hasty for Alistair's liking.

Alistair grew even more concerned when he saw the eyes dart quickly from his. He stepped closer to him and could see that they were slightly glazed over, as if the man was in a slight fever. Was Hadrian hurt somehow? He was always at the front of the party. Perhaps he got bitten by an adder but didn't tell them. However, Alistair was with Hadrian that whole time and he couldn't recall his friend being in any situation that would have resulted in his injury. _Maybe he's just tired. We've been walking for days on end after all._

He didn't want to prod the man about his question of state but then again, Hadrian had constantly prodded him with questions of his times with the Wardens before this whole accursed mess occurred. It was only fair for him to return that consideration.

"Maybe you should lie down and rest," Alistair suggested timidly. He wasn't entirely sure if his friend would be receptive to his idea, but it was worth a try.

Hadrian's head nodded in agreement, to his ultimate surprise, and the senior Grey Warden watched, with even more concerned eyes, as Hadrian paced to his bedroll that was at the entrance of the alcove. The rest were set further in, to make use of the shelter the cave provided from rain and sleet.

Alistair wasn't the only watching him though and Leliana accosted the remaining Warden.

"Is he ok?" The thick Orlesian accent was distinctly clear from Hadrian's own.

"Not sure. He didn't look injured."

"We are all tired from our excursion here. Since the Tower can be seen not too far from away, we are getting close to it." Leliana said in an assuring voice.

She had heard tales of this infamous Tower, tales of both the good and the bad. The wonders of how The Templars could keep in such dangerous powers were unduly fascinating to her and she wanted to see herself how the mageborn lived under those conditions.

The sound of thunder brought their attentions to the sky. Through what they could see amidst the tops of the various trees that culminated this area they were in, dark clouds hovered nearby, pregnant with impending rain.

"Looks like it will rain soon. Good thing we have some rations leftover from the last hunt thanks to Morrigan's way of packing." Leliana murmured appreciatively. Even Alistair, despite his extreme dislike for the witch, had to appreciate the witch's proficiency. _Survival should always come first._ That's what she had said to explain for her quick, methodical ways. It also explained why she was still with them, even when the opportunities to abandon her compatriots to the unpredictability of Mother Nature and Fate were plentiful and in abundance.

"Yeah. Good thing," Alistair agreed reluctantly. Leliana let out a soft laugh at the dejected expression on her friend's face. She had known that the two didn't always get along but there was a grudging respect between the two that often outdid feelings of animosity. "Since Hadrian's already asleep, I'll take first watch."

"Oh. I was actually going to offer take that spot." The disappointment was clear on her tanned face and Alistair thought that maybe he should relinquish that position to the newcomer.

"Ok, fine by me. I'll get some sleep that way too. If I can get any." The Warden didn't elucidate as to the reason why he wouldn't get any sleep. Instead, like Hadrian, he too tucked himself in his bedroll, which was situated right behind that of his friend's. The Qunari refused to sleep in a bedroll, thinking it underneath him that he should lie with humans. Initially, he had wanted to sleep by the riverbanks but the witch's threat that they would leave him in this strange land made him abandon that idea. Thus, he made do by just standing outside the cave's entrance, acting as a silent sentinel for the inhabitants within.

Leliana felt the first drops of rain falling down and she put forth her hand. With winter coming on, the rain was colder than normal and the temperature had plummeted down to 10°C. She hoped that Morrigan had cast a warming spell before settling in the night. As if reading her mind, she heard someone mutter a couple of phrases and the first watcher sighed in relief as warm air greeted her back. She grabbed her bow, a longbow for range more than power, and held it in her hand. Having been in the woods before back in Orlais, she was inured to the foreign sounds of the forest's denizens and to the calls of danger that brewed restlessly within. Humans weren't the only predators in the forest and her eyes scanned the area profusely, not wanting to be caught off guard by an unseemly animal. When a few hours had passed uneventfully, her guard relaxed enough to the point that she never heard the rustling of the sheets and soft footsteps padding away from her and the camp. Neither did the Qunari, whose loud snores echoed rather loudly in the cave but was unheard of by the sleeping members.

-o0o-

Alistair jarred awake and he jerked upwards, his sweaty hands clutching at the blankets. By the Maker, that was a weird dream! He dreamt of running, the forest whizzing by so fast that it would be a blur to normal human eyes. However, with these ones, he could clearly see the outlines of the trees passing by, the shrubs, the animals, all of them were in minute details. He felt freer somehow, despite the disturbing feeling that he wasn't running as a human, but as a four-legged animal. There was a soft growl to the left of him and he stopped in his tracks, astonished to see a smaller wolf running ahead of him for a few moments before circling back. Its pace slowed from a running type to a slow trot before the wolf stopped entirely, familiar blue eyes gazing back at him, the feelings of love and longing sending a pleasurable jolt through the Warden.

_Alistair…_

How did the wolf know him by name?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow that loomed over him and he jumped at a hand placing itself on his shoulder.

"Alistair. I'm sorry for scaring you," Leliana whispered softly. "But have you seen Hadrian? He's not in his bedroll..."

"Huh?" _That is a smart answer!_

Their Orlesian tracker didn't chide him for his monosyllable reply. She gave him a small smile instead, perhaps understanding that her presence scared Alistair out of his wits upon his waking.

"Hadrian," She continued in a patient tone. Her eyes flickered to the side of him, where Hadrian's bedroll laid disturbed and abandoned of its occupant. The moon was shining brightly enough for the pair to see some faint tracks leading away from the bedroll but that was all. She could only do so much tracking with little light.

"I thought he was sleeping," Alistair replied. "Maybe he went to relieve himself?"

Lelian's lips pursed tightly. She apparently didn't think so.

"Non. He's been missing for a candlelight. No one takes _that_ long to do so, not even us women."

"I can find him. I'm already awake." Alistair slowly climbed to his feet and stretched out his limbs. He took with him his shortsword, one that Hadrian actually gave him as a small gift after having left Lothering. He would have felt special but Hadrian gave everyone little gifts: a demonic statute for Morrigan, a silver bracelet for Leliana, and a very, very tiny painting for the Qunari. How could that huge monstrosity have a liking for something so tangible, so poignantly emotional to a human? Alistair's respect hiked up a bit at seeing the very astonished but nonetheless grateful expression on that strong Qunari face.

"Are you sure? It's quite cold out there without Morrigan's warming spell."

As if to support her words, a chill breeze came through and it caused the man to cross his arms across his chest in a poor attempt to keep out the cold.

"I-I'll be fine. He couldn't have gone that far right?"

"Well, wait here." Leliana turned and walked into the cave. After a few moments, she returned, holding a thick jacket in her hands. _How in the Maker's Pits could she wear that and move so quickly?_

"Believe it or not," Leliana started to say as she gave the jacket over to Alistair, who was marveling at the good quality of the wool, "it's actually quite light despite appearances and keeps you very warm too. It should be useful for you, yes?"

"Thanks, Leliana," Alistair breathed and he put it on. She giggled when the sleeves turned out to be a little bit on the short side.

"It's a little short, sorry," Leliana said in a cheery tone.

"It's no problem. Thanks again," Alistair straightened himself out and realized that his body was already feeling warmer than it was before. He really didn't want to return this...

"I want it back after you're done with it." _There goes that idea!_ Her eyes twinkled knowingly at him and he made a mental note that women could really read your mind!

"If you are not back by dawn for sure, we will do a search for you two." She called out to him as he disappeared into the dark woods. Really, they should be back within a candlelight. What could go wrong?

-TBC-

Ooh! A cliffy! Stay tuned for the next chappie, where both partners are confused in what their destined roles and one of them really puts up a resistance, which really pisses off Zarieth.


	25. Moonlight Revelations

**Moonlight Revelations**

Really now. He should have known better than to tempt fate and the Maker. He had already encountered several roaming wild dogs, cousins to the northern wolves. Luckily, their pack was small and he had managed to take all of them out but not unscathed apparently as his leg throbbed from the dogbits that peppered his calf and ankle. His chest felt like it was on fire and Alistair didn't have to see claw marks across his now bare chest to know they were there. Great, the last thing he needs is something even bigger to attack him. The Hinterlands were known for having great southern bears that would often run around, at least until the latter months of the winter season.

He groaned as he limped his way to the river, which he knew was close by by the soft sounds of water flowing by. He really should have taken at least one health poultice. At least one...

He winced as he bent over and moaned as rocks pushed against his wounds. He needed to clean his wounds. That's what Duncan had taught to him in his first class of survival. _Always go in search of water, especially if you are wounded. _

Alistair greedily drank in the cool spring waters, uncaring if the water was polluted by the wildlife.

Another growl could be heard and he whirled around, thinking that it was another pack of wild dogs come to finish him off. What he found instead made him wish otherwise.

A wolf of an immense size was watching him, its blue eyes looking curiously back at him.

If someone had asked Alistair what happened next, even he couldn't fully explain the next events.

When their eyes locked, it felt as if time stood still and his hand burned hotly. He grasped at it in pain and eyes stared in horror as a star appeared on his palm, traced in blood before suddenly glowing in blue flame.

What was going on? He thought that to be a dream but it clearly wasn't.

A loud howl reverberated throughout the entire woods and Alistair watcher with terrified eyes as the wolf charged at him, its intent to kill him clear in the piercing eyes. He took a step back further than he intended and slipped backwards with a pained yelp. Stars crawled all over his vision as the breath was knocked out of him upon the hard landing and for a brief moment, everything darkened before brightening again. Savage snarls and growls could be heard and he saw two blurred figures thrashing around each other. There was an agonized yelp and one of the blurred figures fell back into a motionless heap.

The bigger of the two reared its head back to let out a victorious howl of triumph over his downed enemy. Although his eyes were unfocused, he intrinsically knew that it was the wolf he saw earlier that won this strange skirmish.

When he saw the wolf stroll towards him, he again gazed at those startlingly familiar blue eyes and wondered if he was going to be eaten. The wolf got closer to him and he felt it sniff him, its nose blessedly cold against his hot skin. His consciousness was slowly slipping away but he saw at the last minute the wolf morphing into someone he had been looking for all this time. His eyes fought to stay open, to make sure he wasn't on drugs which Morrigan may have slipped into his drink. However, the darkness called out to him and he finally gave into it, never seeing a dismal expression that had crossed his friend's features.

-o0o-

Hadrian truly hoped that no one noticed anything unusual but Alistair, ever the curious one, had to go looking for him. What had tipped him off?

He cursed inwardly at his lack of vigilance. Now, he was going to be responsible for another innocent man's death.

A hand cupped the unconscious man's cheek, the thumb rubbing away the dirt and grime. As he admired the form lying beneath him, a ghostly apparition took form and then solidified. It sat on its haunches, the head looking down at the Warden for a moment before pulling its gaze to Hadrian's, an amused twinkle shining in its eyes.

_He is to be an exception._

_Why? Why him?_

_The blood of the ancient ones flows through him and is most suitable for your needs._

_My needs?_

There has always been an Alpha in the Cousland Family…An Alpha and a Beta…two of the same coin and yet so entirely different as well.

Hadrian didn't like that statement. He wasn't suited for either role. He liked making his own decisions but is open-minded to listen to others. If other ideas were more appropriate, he had no qualms in following them. However, he was no submissive either. He was his own person, strong and independent.

_Being submissive doesn't mean groveling in front of others. That is unmeaning for anyone._

_No, I can't. He doesn't even like men and every time I see him, I see Cailan._ It was true, too true for him. He didn't want to go through those heartbreaks again. He couldn't be distracted from his lifetime goal, which was seeing Howe's head on a spike.

_Such vengeance will burn you and only your soul mate can curb the fires of righteous anger before it takes you._.

He felt as if the wolf was chiding him, in a way his own mother scolded him lightly for a minor mistake. He did notice that as soon as he touched his friend, the fires that raged inside of him had considerably decreased in their intensity, leaving behind a calmness he had not felt in a long time.

The man moaned and stirred underneath his hand. Hadrian looked up to Zarieth, to ask him for guidance, only to find his Wolf Protector disappeared. _Damn wolf. Giving me riddles and then disappearing to who knows where!_

Alistair, for his part, did not rouse and it allowed Hadrian to do what he needed to do, although with great reluctance.

-o0o-

Alistair was having the most wonderful and yet odd dream again. A soft, velvety tongue was touching him, licking all over his body and yet not covering his most private areas, including his nipples. It felt as if the person was deliberately teasing him, avoiding those pleasurable areas. The tongue burned him in a way he had not felt before and he was immediately ashamed of it.

The Chantry had taught their novice Templars that the pleasures of the flesh were a sin. Anyone caught masturbating in a bed or anywhere were severely punished with ten lashes from a whip and a month's duty of cleaning weapons and dishes without a break. Their punishments, instead of discouraging the disciples of the Maker from doing it, only made it worse for now it was done in the most discrete manner, hidden in the shadows and with a guilty conscience. It helped the boys bond together even more for no one wanted to be caught and often times, one would actually stand watch while letting his friend relieve himself with his hand. Seeing such actions though sometimes prompted the two to couple eventually, especially upon reaching their final years of manhood.

Alistair had never regretted leaving the monastery. When Duncan had appeared at the front and almost demanded that Alistair be released for recruitment purposes, the young blonde felt so relieved at this opportunity to escape that horrible prison.

"Alistair, you can wake up now," Duncan had said to him. Suddenly, the memory of his mentor, the burning sensation of that wet organ, disappeared in a rush as he opened his eyes, only to have daylight sending daggers of pain. He closed them shut, groaning.

"Alistair?" A shadow stood in the way of the sun and Alistair's eyes carefully slanted open, revealing dazed brown eyes.

"Hadrian, he's awake," a feminine voice shouted out, causing the patient to wince at the loudness of her statement. _Maker, I am now!_

He opened his eyes all the way and was shocked to find himself lying in their cave, on a thick bedroll that shielded his back from prodding rocks. A small fire was crackling quietly in front of him and, despite the heat emanating from the hearth, he felt oddly cold and bereft of something.

Morrigan was tending to the fires, a knowing smirk on her pale face. She looked like she knew a secret of Alistair's but was unwilling to tell him. The sounds of someone approaching him, however, diverted his attention. His brown eyes focused on a familiar figure, the one he had been looking for all night.

"Hadrian!" Alistair bolted out of bed and then the blankets fell to his waist, revealing tanned skin and toned chest. The older Warden blushed as he knew that he was naked underneath and were the blankets to fall completely further down, it would revealed dark brown hairs that covered his lower part of the body.

Morrigan's gaze drifted downwards and Hadrian's own eyes gazed appreciatively at his friend. A smile curled on his lips when he saw Alistair fumbling with the blankets, trying to cover himself from prying eyes. Hadrian had to admit, though, that Zarieth really had good tastes. _Damn wolf could have given me a much uglier partner. Ughh!_

Finally tired of seeing his friend fumbling with himself and of Morrigan still staring at his friend lewdly, he knelt at Alistair's side. He effectively blocked the witch's view of his blushing friend as he gently pushed Alistair down on the blankets.

"How-what? I thought-"

"I found you injured and brought you back here," Hadrian answered simply. He really hated lying to his friend, but what could he say? That I turned into a wolf and licked your wounds? That would go really well, especially considering how skittish Alistair is when dealing with human contact, particularly from him.

"Really? I...I don't remember." Alistair's hand covered the right part of his face, his eyes closing shut as he tried to remember what exactly happened. Images of a blue wolf flashed in front of him but that was it. Why couldn't he remember? Was he concussed?

"You hit your head. Must have caused you to pass out back there. Don't worry, though," Hadrian assured his friend. He brought a cup of hot tea to his friend and supported him as Alistair sipped gingerly at the drink. "It'll come to you later." _And give me time to deal with this._

Alistair's eyes blinked rapidly at him before the eyelids slipped shut, closing over those handsome brown eyes. There was a relieved sigh and not before long, soft, slow breaths could be heard in the cave.

"What _did_ happen to you out there?" Morrigan asked the silent watcher.

Their unexpected appearance at dawn took them by surprise and raised many questions. Leliana had woken them all up with her loud exclamations. Even Sten jerked awake, his given sword already unsheathed and ready to kill. However, they were not greeted with an enemy but two disheveled figures, one carrying the other.

When Hadrian laid his charge down unto thick blankets that Morrigan was ordered to set up, the witch saw no visible wounds. Thus, it struck her strange that Alistair was unconscious for no apparent reason. She reined in her questions, however, until now, when it was just her and the Warden.

The man, Hadrian, did not answer her question though. Then, just when she was about to prod him again, determined to get _some_ answers out of this strange man, he turned to her and was taken aback by seeing fierce blue eyes glaring at her as if she was an enemy. Just like back in the Kacori Wilds, the visage of the wolf snarled at her. Her mother's stories, apparently, were not just bedtime stories for her. Animal spirits were lingering remnants of the Old Gods, according to the legends, but not all were friendly to mankind. What spirit possessed Hadrian, her friend? Yes, she can call the man her friend, despite his unusual roughness with her. He had never hurt her or anyone else. It was as if he was afraid of getting close to family.

The witch still hadn't known Hadrian's last name but she figured she would find out in due time.

"Calm yourself, Hadrian," Morrigan soothed the man in a neutral tone. "I was merely wanting to know the details of what occurred. 'Tis strange to have Alistair come to us, unconscious, but with no apparent wounds on him. He is, in fact, in perfect health."

"Like I said, Morrigan," Hadrian growled at her. "I found him like this."

Morrigan threw her hands in the air out of frustration. She was never going to get any answers from him.

"Whatever you say, Hadrian," Morrigan said in an exasperated tone. She turned to rummage through her things, clearly ending the conversation.

It was this point Leliana walked in, carrying more dead rabbits in her arms. The odd silence perplexed the redhead but the concern of Alistair overrode it at the sight of Hadrian sitting by his friend's side. Her sharp eyes did not miss how Hadrian rubbed gently at a slack hand, how carefully he tended to the man when he thought no one was looking. She smiled gently and came to the fireside, placing the dead rabbits by her side.

"Is everything alright, here?"

"Yes," was a simple reply from Hadrian. "Everything's just fine."

With the way Hadrian was hunched over Alistair and the agitation of the witch, it didn't take brains to know that something was up. Leliana put this memory aside and she hummed softly as she prepared dinner for the party.

-TBC-

**Review responses**:

Youko'sgirl16: As much as I would love to have a Zevran threesome, I think Fergus would be OOC since he appears to be a very faithful husband to his previous wife and would probably be not in favour of sharing anyone that he loves. However, that is a good idea for my collection of one-shots called _Black Book_. :D

the kid: Hmm. Maybe, it depends on how many readers want it. I'll keep an open mind about it in the meantime.

YoshisSupport: I love cliffies. It makes you want to read more and more until the story's finished. I will be starting school this August, so I will do my ultimate best in finishing the majority of my stories by that time.

Swallows a lot: Yep, I think Alistair's a very hawt man and, while I think he's good with a woman, I much prefer him to be with a man. Maybe that's just the fangirl in me. :D

Aki: No cliffy this time! But it does raise more questions about our favourite couple and how Alistair will react to his new destiny.

Aki and YoshisSupport: Your request fics will be uploaded in a new fic called _The Black Book_. Check it out!

A/N: Thanks to all those who took their time reading this story. The poll is still open and displayed on my profile. If you are anony, just vote in your review. If you have an opinion and/or an idea, please say something! Flamers are fed to the darkspawn while those who leave a review may get a request fulfilled for the _Black Book_ fic.


	26. The Hawk and The Gryphon

Chapter 26: The Hawk and the Gryphon

Anders was having a really bad day. Just a really bad day that made him wish he were born a thief, a beggar, just anyone except a bloody mage on the run from Templars, who just happened to patrol the outside borders of Amaranthine.

He barely managed to sneak into a vacant hovel that was seemingly abandoned by its previous occupants. The bed wasn't even made and the bowls left on the kitchen tables signified that whoever was in there had to leave quickly.

He ducked underneath a window just as heavy footsteps came by and a shadow lit across the table, blocking the sunlight that streamed into the room. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel the heartbeats thrumming in his veins. It sped up as those same footsteps came back to the window, where he lay hidden. _Please, move on! Just keep going! Keep walking damn it!_

"You hear something?" A voice murmured and there was a hiss of steel. Anders trembled as the shadow hadn't moved. Then without warning, someone had kicked the door open and it banged against the wall. Anders cursed at his stupidity in not watching his back as often as he should.

As the Templar had a helmet on, the mage couldn't see the wild, satisfied look on the man's face. All the mage saw was the raised sword. Anders rolled out of the Templar's sword that came down upon him and then stumbled out of the doorway only to collide with another Templar.

"You idiot!" Another Templar shouted at his partner, who cursed as his prey struggled uselessly in the Templar's grip. "We're not supposed to kill him!"

"Shut up! They're mages, the filth of the Maker who don't deserve to live," Knight Ryela hissed angrily. He swung his sword back and lunged at the mage.

Anders' eyes became as large as saucers as he saw death coming from him. There was nothing he could do. The Templars had cast a particularly powerful anti-magic field spell on him and he moaned as he tried in vain to call the magic back to him, even as the sword struck for him.

"Brother, I told you we should have headed straight for Kirkwall!" A strange voice called out in a haughty tone. "Now, we've got these Templars to face!"

The Templar that was busy trying to skewer Anders alive stopped and he whirled around, his sword and shield held protectively in front of him. Both he and his friends were shocked to find a large group of people blurr into being. Then, realizing that the people had mages with them, they all shifted into a defensive stance. The one who held Anders captive threw a fist at Anders' cheek, effectively knocking him down and stunning him in the process. One of them raised a hand to call forth another anti-magic spell only to be knocked out by Anders, who clambered to his feet, his fist a bloody mess as it made contact with metal.

"Shit! That hurt!" The blonde mage yelped, prompting a very strange expression from one of the taller mages.

However, the seriousness of the situation called for their complete attention. The five Templars that had cornered Anders were now circling around the four newcomers and Anders thought it strange for an old woman to be among them. _Who are they?_

Two mages were the immediate focus of all eyes while a young man clad in heavy armor and wielding a two-handed sword was in front of them. The Templars at once lunged for them. The leader of the five went straight to the male mage, one that Anders thought was very attractive and felt strangely pulled to him.

"Don't!" Anders called out to them. "They're innocent!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears as the skirmish commenced with the first strike. The taller of the two mages sidestepped the oncoming thrust and squatted to the ground, throwing a leg out and kicking the templar down. The man with the sword ducked underneath a sweep only to plunge the hilt of the sword deep into the man's gut. The force of the blow was felt even through thick armor and there was a strangled gasp from the Templar as he gulped for air. Carver quickly grabbed the gasping templar by the throat and pushed him down to the ground, thus knocking him out for good.

"Arren! The anti-magic field is gone! Now's our chance!" The female mage shouted out and Anders let out a whistle when both mages had rock armor on. Whoever these people were, they were used to fighting Templars and fighting together. He could only watch as the pair then synchronized their spells, timed perfectly with their warrior. The male cast a frozen spell on a Templar that was sneaking up behind Carver while the female mage threw out a rock only to shatter that said Templar into pieces.

"We're killing Templars now, brother?" The warrior asked the male mage. He parried a strike from the Templar and struck him on the side of the temple with the hilt of his sword.

"In this situation, they were willing to kill one man. I don't think they intend to taking him alive or us for that matter," the male mage called out.

When all was said and done, Anders was amazed to find that all but one Templar was dead. The only one alive was ironically the only one who didn't want to kill Anders.

He saw the group gather around the elderly woman, the taller male asking if she was ok. When given a satisfactory answer, he suddenly turned to him and both gasped at making eye contact, as something was irrevocably forged between them.

-O0O-

_Seek out the caged one_...

That's what the little boy had said to him. Arren knew without a doubt that he had found who he was looking for and he was already smitten with this blonde man.

Once he made sure that his entire family was ok, he then turned to the man they had rescued and he almost stumbled forward as the weight of this man's memories bore him down. Anders as a little boy crying out for his parents. The dark prison of the Circle of Magi and the leering grins of those who stood guard over them. Then the thrill of the escape that had almost failed if it weren't for them. It was too much for the kind-hearted man and there were furious shouts of his name. In the midst of the noise, another voice called out to him and he gasped as he saw the shape of a large gryphon hovering right behind Anders. It reared its head back and the screech deafened him, until he lost all hold on reality and slumped into warm arms. _Aien no volla...ivye poelna ikra..._

"Arren?" Bethany cried out, terrified to hear those screams of pain coming from her older brother. She watched as the man they rescued also screamed, clutching at his head. Something was happening. Carver was just about ready to stab the blonde mage but her hand thrust out in front of him, restraining his bloodythirsty instincts.

"Stop! Carver! We didn't rescue this guy just to kill him!"

"But he's killing him!" Carver bit back, his sweaty hands clutching tightly at the hilt of the sword.

"No! Look!" Bethany, his idiotically sentimental sister, pointed out to the duo. No longer screaming, the taller blonde was cradling their own brother in his arm. The other hand was out and on his chest, holding him the way a lover would. His entire frame then glowed blue and before long, Arren's own body was bathed in that same blue light. Soon, he was breathing more easily and the brows relaxed as their brother entered into a peaceful sleep. Who was this guy?

They were about to ask him for his name but another groan caught their attention. It was the downed Templar, rousing from his senseless state. Carver, not willing to risk their family getting caught, brushed off his sister's insistent hand and strolled to the groaning templar. Bethany shouted at him, thinking that her own brother was going to kill an unarmed man. Her twin merely brought down his gauntled fist across the rousing man's cheek.

There was a horrible snapping sound and Bethany gasped, her hands going to her face in shock at what her brother did. Her mother, however, scrambled to the templar's side and placed two fingers on his neck.

"He's still alive. Carver just knocked him out, that's all."

Carver snorted. "That's all? Mother, we're royally fucked."

A loud slap echoed in the air and Carver touched his cheek, shocked that his own mother would lay a hand on him.

"Eighteen years of caring for you and your sister," Leandra hissed at her son. "Both your father and brother sacrificed much for us and all you do is complain! Buck up and be a man! Be a Hawke!"

Carver was struck speechless at his mother's temper. _She's right. I need to be a man. But it's hard __when you're always in your brother's shadow._

"Now, let's move into that house and sort some stuff out."

"What about the Templars, mother?" It was Bethany who had asked that question. Leandra paused for a moment and she glanced at the dead Templars plus one alive. They couldn't stay here, at least not risk having to fight another patrol of Templars.

"We'll bury them," she sighed. She had never wanted this life for her kids, never. _But you didn't want to be alone, like your sister, Nia Amell._ Her husband's voice rang out. _She who has lost everything to the Circle, her husband and her kids._

They were all so engrossed in their predicament that they nearly forgot about the pair.

-o0o-

_Warm. I feel so warm and safe._ Those were Arren's thoughts as he was slowly bringing himself out unconsciousness. The first sight that greeted him was a pair of honeyed brown eyes and they glistened at him happily.

"Hey," the man breathed out, his arm tightening a little bit around his chest. It didn't bother him though. He rather liked it in fact. "You ok?"

"Yes," Arren replied back and his yellow eyes blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the blurriness. When his vision cleared though, the man's face was devilishly handsome, almost sinful. That long nose, the full red lips, the strong jaw all made this man even more handsome in his eyes. An odd strength could be felt within the man's body and Arren knew that he had found his destined lover. His own mother, when later told about this, absolutely gushed with joy and his sister Bethany embraced him within her arms, saying congrats.

"You didn't have to do that. Now, because of me, all of you are in trouble." The man's brows furrowed in worry. Those eyes, no longer happy, were thoughtful and almost troubled.

"Ok, mister," Bethany said to the man holding her brother almost lovingly. "You can let go of my brother, now. We have to be on the move now, thanks to your Templars."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the mage apologized and he slowly got up, all the while still holding unto Arren's hand. He clutched at the other mage's hand and gently pulled him up, only to have Arren fall into his chest. Arren blushed slightly. _What? What is this feeling? I've never felt like this before..._

"Come on, you two!" Carver yelled, ruining the moment and earning another jab in the ribs from his sister. "What? You said so yourself that we have to keep moving! Plus, we've already lingered here too long, especially after digging graves for those we killed."

The foursome plus the man they saved started to move again. It wasn't until the sun was nearly setting that they finally could see the tall bell tower of Amaranthine from a mile away. They stopped by another empty house, glad that no Templars were found nearby.

"Great," Carver puffed out, his hands on his knees, panting as they had just ran for the past ten miles, trying to head for the city before dark. Their mother was made of stronger stuff than most forty-year old mothers, but she too was greatly exhausted. Her face was quite pale, despite their intense journey, and she seemed to be wheezing slightly.

"Mother?" Arren asked her, a gentle hand placed in the middle of her back.

"I'm alright, son," she panted and gulped. Then her breathing calmed. "Just a little winded, that's all."

"We're almost there. Sun doesn't set for another candlelight or so," the other man informed them and he peered off in the distance. From his position, the only things he could see were the thick walls of Amaranthine and the bell tower. It was still too far away to see the gate guards that were usually posted there day and night, to prevent any unwanted scragglers from coming into the city.

"It's a good thing Amaranthine is not exactly close to the Chantry, despite them having one," the same man said.

"What do you mean 'not close' to the Chantry?" Bethany had heard of Amaranthine, how it was the jewel of Thedas while Denerim was the crown of Thedas. Due to it being the first port of Thedas, a lot of imports would go through Amaranthine first and the people there had first choice to the items being sold to the Fereldens. However, Amaranthine was also known for being more opened-minded to magic than its sister cities and its not so tolerant attitude of Templars rounding mages had challenged the authority of the Chantry, which resulted in them sending more and more of Templars. Unfortunately, that just ended in a minor civil war and the Chantry didn't want to completely lose the only city that was in direct contact with Kirkwall. Thus, they withdrew the majority of their Templar forces, leaving only a handful to handle issues within the Chapel.

"It means, Bethany," Arren was smirking now at his sister, "that we can take a ship from Amaranthine to Kirkwall without any problems."

Carver snorted at that statement. Trouble always followed the Hawkes, no matter what. As he stared off at the gates, he just hoped that it would stop stalking them when they leave Ferelden behind. Then again, when he looked back at their newcomer, who was eying his own brother, perhaps it was too late to hope for that.

-TBC-

**A/N: I forgot to thank those who recently added this story to their favs/alerts list: Swallows a lot, JaenelleSen, Trouble At T'Mill for their favs list; Calcium FIST, Swallows a lot, Youko'sgirl16, aero-shock, and Yalmark for the alerts list.**

**Review responses:**

**the kid****: **Yeah, sorry if this story was kinda slow in the beginning. Things really are starting to heat up from now and I'm looking forward to hearing from people, hopefully...No problem about the request. Maybe I can do a poll after the Fergus one is done. Alistair will feel the affects of his mark in the next full moon, which will give Hadrian plenty of time to fall in love with him. I've already typed up three hawt scenes with just those two**.**

**Aki****: **Yep, Leliana, being ever the shrewd Bard that she is, never misses anything. Otherwise, she wouldn't have survived for so long playing The Game back in Orlais. Question is, how will Sten respond? Not very nicely, I think. I'm very happy that you enjoyed the Black Book. I'll keeping posting more chapters so long as I get requests for it.

**YoshisSupport****: **Don't worry. Hadrian will fall in love with him. It helps if there's a certain pointy-eared Assassin in there trying to make moves on him. He'll appear in the next two or three chapters, after the Circle of Magi is done.

**Please, everyone, for the love of _FAN_FICTION, review! Pretty plz? I'm begging here... Here's an incentive: every fiftieth reviewer gets a special request for THE BLACK BOOK fic, a collection of steamy one-shots for the DA games. How's that sound?**


	27. Calenhad Docks

CHAPTER 27: Calenhad Docks

They had finally reached Lake Calenhad, named after the founding King of Ferelden. On the way there, Hadrian, just out of curiosity, asked a man, who looked highly suspicious, on what he was doing. He hovered around the entrance and his eyes darted anxiously from one side of the entrance to another side, as if watching out for whoever who could be spying on him in return. The man's clothes were of poor quality and threadbare. The noble figured he was either a beggar or a scavenger. He disliked both types and he decided to accost the man, to ask him what he was doing.

The Qunari, however, recognized the poor lad and before Hadrian could do anything, had grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and shoved him against the stoned wall. His forearm pressed dangerously into the man's throat.

"Sten!" Hadrian tried to pry off the Qunari's arm but Sten was too strong. Seeing that he had no choice in the matter, Hadrian pulled out his sword and placed the tip of it at Sten's throat. The Qunari was intrinsically pleased that he had finally brought the animal out of his leader. Yet his face stayed stoic, showing nothing of his inner feelings about the man who had released him from his cage, from his torments. "Release him. Now."

Alistair's own hand hovered next to the hilt of the sword, ready to draw it out if need be. His eyes flickered nervously between the Qunari and his friend. Even Leliana and Morrigan were poised in a battle stance. However, while Alistair knew for certain that Leliana would side with Hadrian, he was unsure of Morrigan's stance. The way her staff was aiming directly at the Qunari put him at ease though, albeit temporarily.

"Explain to this man why you just attacked him," Hadrian demanded of the Qunari.

"Dead men don't need an explanation." The Qunari's eyes flashed with anger. The farmer flinched and his face paled even more.

"Then explain to us. I will have no secrets that will come back to bite us in the ass," Hadrian hissed. While he kept secrets of his own, he really didn't want to be offed by an enemy of his companions, at least not without his acknowledgment. Leliana squirmed just a bit at her friend's statement but her face betrayed no emotion. However, Alistair, for some odd reason, could hear her heartbeat spiked for a brief moment before calming itself again. However, like her, he too had secrets. Maybe he really should tell Hadrian the truth behind his heritage. No, it's too soon for that. He had just forged a good friendship and he didn't want to risk ending it by telling Hadrian, 'oh by the way, I'm the only heir to Ferelden's throne.'

"This man," the Qunari said in a calm voice, "is one of the farmers who ambushed me and took my sword."

"Your sword? So it's true then," Hadrian murmured. He thought the Qunari was joking when he was told of that anecdote about him being found by a bunch of farmers and thus ambushed.

"Yes," the Qunari snarled and the poor farmer gasped for breath. His hands clawed uselessly at the offending arm and his lips started to turn blue while his face was reddening with the strain of staying alive.

"Sten," Hadrian said in a soft tone, "if you kill him, you will never find out the location of your sword."

While Sten's instincts was to just pound the farmer to death for his loss, the Qunari knew that Hadrian was right. He certainly did not want to report back to the Arishok without a sword. That would be certain death, if he was lucky.

The farmer slid haplessly down the wall, only to fall into a boneless heap. His hands reached around his bruised throat as the man coughed in violent bursts, taking in much needed air.

Hadrian and the group waited until the farmer composed himself as much as he could while in the company of armed men and women. When his breathing calmed and his heartbeat leveled out, Hadrian put away his sword. He knelt at the man's eye level.

"As you can see, my friend believes you attacked him and stole his weapon," Hadrian started to say to him. "Is that correct?"

The farmer nodded his head fervently, his voice still too hoarse to be used. The nobleman sighed as the farmer's eyes flickered nervously back to the Qunari. He shifted himself to where it would effectively block the other man's view of the Qunari. When he did so, the reaction was almost immediate. Colour came back to his face and the black beady eyes focused on him. The haze of fear was nearly gone, although the stench of it was still stuck with Hadrian. Sometimes being cursed with this power was more of a nuisance than anything else. The farmer smelt as if he hadn't bathed in days and his body absolutely reeked of filth and hay. His clothes were tattered and torn in some places. Apparently, the farmer had just got here himself, having come from some nearby farm or something. _Probably to get away the from Darkspawn further south._

"I..." the man gulped and his hands started to fidget again. "We just found him lying there and thinking that he was the darkspawn, we attacked him."

"Darkspawn are unholy, dark creatures," Sten growled unhappily at the farmer. The poor man flinched and he started to hiccup his answers. Hadrian threw a glare at the scowling Qunari before turning his attentions back to the scared farmer.

"What happened to the sword?" Hadrian's question was asked in a soft, quiet tone. The farmer swallowed another hiccup before answering in a very timid voice.

"I...uh...sold...it...already..."

"Where, when, and who?"

"Ummm...a guy with blonde hair...Frostback Mountains...a month or so ago..."

"Damn," Hadrian cursed. He rose on his feet. Frostback Mountains was easily a few weeks away and there was no guarantee that the sword would still be there. "Well, Sten, we'll know where it is or rather was."

The Qunari snorted in disgust. His black eyes bore into the farmer's, causing the man to scrabble away into the wall.

"But first, the Circle," Hadrian said. He looked back at the man and then nudged his head to the direction of the entrance. The farmer hastily clambered to his feet, and after bidding them a hasty thank-you, he broke into a run and made for his escape, not once looking back at the strange group of people he had come across with.

"How about we go for a drink first?" Alistair suggested. "I could use a warm mead right about now and there's a tavern close by."

The women agreed with the blonde Warden while Sten just emitted a grunt of approval. Hadrian figured that his people would need a break whenever the opportunity presented itself. Perhaps while his friends were resting, he could walk around and fish for information. _Besides, I'm sure Regus wants to sniff around for some stuff._

Regus, as if sensing his master's thoughts, let out a bark and jumped around several times before barking again.

"Alright," Hadrian sighed. "You all go on ahead. I'll stick around and see what I can find out."

"Let me come with you," Alistair offered. Hadrian's brows knitted together as he tried to figure out his friend's intentions. Just moments ago he was eager to get a drink. Now, he wanted to go with him. _You know you want him..._

"Ok," Hadrian walked off, trusting his companions to do what they would do. Morrigan looked like she was about to protest. Her mouth gaped open like a fish, the words of protest ready to fly out until Leliana gently took her hand and led her away to the tavern, _the Flying Princess._ Sten moved behind them, but not before glancing his way at the pair of Wardens that stood awkwardly at the entrance still. _Strange humans._ _Perhaps conquering them will be harder than what the Arishok perceive it to be._

-0O0-

"Well, I knew something's always up in the Tower, but this," Alistair shook his head sadly as he leaned back on his forearms.

The pair had walked around and, after asking several questions concerning the state of the Tower, finally sat down on the ledge that jutted out over the large pond. Alistair's thoughts swirled around his mind. In the midst of asking questions and receiving odd answers about Sir Gregoir, Alistair noticed that Hadrian never once glanced in his direction. It was as if the older Warden was ignoring him for some reason. However, their bodies brushed against each other at such odd intervals, it made the younger Warden think that Hadrian was maybe fighting with himself about something. An inner turmoil but of what? And why?

He looked up, to gaze up fondly at the dark, starry sky. The moon herself was starting to wax and it seemed to call him, to call forth an urge of something. He was starting to remember what had happened, but only in pieces now. The rabid dogs, the soft rustles of the trees, the blue wolf. The Blue Wolf...and then Hadrian peering down at him with worried eyes.

"I never liked the Tower," Hadrian's whisper was almost lost in the breeze that had come in. Alistair jerked his head to the side at that blunt statement. Most of the people he met absolutely loved the Tower, how it kept the dangerous elements behind stoned walls. The Revered Mother Herself told him that mages were mistakes of the Maker and their only way to redemption is to help out mankind. Their only way to live was to be forever watched by their Templar guardians. To hear that someone disliked the Tower was out of the norm and it piqued Alistair's interest in the man even more.

"It reeks of power that is abused; the fear of those who couldn't help how they're born and yet they're punished for it in the most terrible of ways: to be caged like animals."

Alistair felt rather than heaTd the venom drip out of Hadrian. The vehemence didn't suit his friend. His eyes raked over the form of Hadrian and found it trembling. He felt that he should comfort the man somehow but how? He saw Hadrian's hands clenching in the grass, almost turning into fists. An aura of extreme dislike wafted from the man accompanied by the smell of lilacs and something musky underneath. _Maker! I can't be thinking of that!_

He tried to shift his thoughts but all he could think of was having this man, loving him, comforting him, kissing and...and...

"Alistair?"

"Uh...ummm..." _Real smart answer, genius!_ "It's just...that not everyone shares your opinions."

"What do you think?" _Maker's ass, why did he ask me that question?_ _What do I think...I don't know honestly...__**Say your true feelings.**_ Wait, where did that voice come from? That was not his conscience for sure. The voice sounded like his, but it sounded surer, commanding almost.

"I honestly think that the Tower is not essentially the only solution," came the blurted reply. The words just flew out of his mouth without him thinking about it. Hadrian's eyes became wide for a second, as if the other Warden was surprised by his response. Then, he smiled and it made Alistair's heart flutter.

Hadrian moved closer to him. The scent grew stronger and stronger until all Alistair could smell was that arousing scent of the wilds, something woodsy and fragrant. He realized that it was coming from Hadrian and it shocked him that he wasn't totally revolted by that idea. In fact, with his burgeoning erection underneath the groin plating, his body liked it, if not his mind.

"You should be more confident, Alistair," Hadrian breathed. This close, Alistair could see that those blue eyes looked startlingly familiar to those of the blue wolf. **He is the one who saved us. The call of your destined one is strong and you must heed it before it is too late.**__** Before the end.**


	28. It's A Small World, Isn't it, Loren?

Chapter 28: It's A Small World, Isn't it, Loren Amell? 

Flemeth watched, with apathetic eyes, her sacrifice struggling uselessly in its bonds on the plain gray slab that served as her altar. Her Goddess demanded the blood of a virgin, preferably an elf. _Their blood is sweeter than anything. Pure and untouched by the ravages of time_. Well, that would be the elves of ancient times. However, the old witch knew better than to correct a being more powerful than herself. In her opinion, and if everything turns out well, she would have the Goddess answer to her in time. It just requires patience, a lot of patience especially when dealing with a most troublesome child.

Ironically, Morrigan reminded her of her past childhood. The strange similarities between her child's mannerisms and her own in this time would often make her pause frequently throughout her upbringing. Nonetheless, it never halted the progress of her ambitious plans.

Tonight would be such a step in keeping her plan in motion.

The female elf started to shout at her in the Dalish language. The fright was clearly evident in her high-pitched voice and her struggles that continued, which highly irritated the silver-haired Witch. However, there was a certain time she had to draw blood and it was when the full moon would shine upon the sacrifice.

She didn't have to wait long for the moon peeked out of her cloudy covers and streaked across the unfortunate elf. Flemeth smiled grimly at her victim, whose struggles suddenly ceased. It was as if she knew that something bad was about to happen and there was nothing she could do about it. She closed her eyes before saying in her silvery dialect, _You will regret this, Kria'ena!*_

"I doubt it," Flemeth replied back in a stoney tone. A knife was raised back in two hands and her victim never screamed as it finally plunged deep into her heart. Blood spurted from her wound and the virgin elf gasped, her eyes widening and then closing as death claimed her.

The witch hastily whispered an ancient phrase, one that she learned too long ago and memorized till this day. The blood that had pooled underneath the body steamed, as if the slab was a furnace. Then, it suddenly lifted itself off the slab and started to coalesce into a humanoid shape beside the dead elf.

Standing before Flemeth was a young female, one that easily towered over her by at least a head. Pale skin gleamed brightly in the moonlight and her dark, black eyes stared fathomlessly at the Witch who summoned her. The almost ghostly appearance of the female would have any man flinch but Flemeth was not any man. She had seen this woman before, perhaps too many times for she found the figure her Goddess partook in to be atrocious. Her skin was too pale to be beautiful and was in fact more suitable for a corpse rather than one for the Old Gods. Perhaps beauty was in the eye of the beholder for Flemeth had a inkling that this woman could easily choose a more suitable form if faced with a male Witch instead of a female one.

"What news have you learned, my disciple?" The Old God asked her in a lilting tone. While she gave Flemeth time to think about her answer, she walked closer to the sacrifice and stroked the dead cheeks, marveling at her hand sunk deep into the victim without causing any marks. Disgusted by that, she withdrew her hand and then muttered a couple of words.

Flemeth barely trembled as the victim was turned into dust, at an Old God's whim.

"Speak quickly, childe, for time draws near until my brother reawakens," she hissed impatiently. She really despised humans, especially haughty ones like her disciple who think themselves the Masters of the world. Unfortunately, Flemeth was one of the few who could wield such power and withstand both the voice and image of an Old God.

"I have rescued the Wardens, although they are only now two, not twelve like you desired," Flemeth reported on her findings.

The colour of the Old God's eyes changed imperceptibly and the Witch of the Wilds knew that she was scanning for the veracity of her report.

"That was destined to happen. The blood of the fallen ones will aide in my awakening. However, you have more information for me, little one."

Flemeth's eyes lowered in reluctance reverence. "Yes, I made an interesting discovery, one which you no doubt will find it helpful."

"Do not presume such a thing, mortal," the Old God said in a caustic tone, before nodding her head to let her disciple continue with relaying her findings. Once she was done, the Old God seemed to pause for a second, her eyes staring intensely at the full moon. "Yes, it seems my brother is at work here too. That damned wolf. Even in his slumber, he seeks to outdo me."

The anger of her brother's doings caused her form to shift and Flemeth could now easily see the dragon's outline. _No, not a dragon, but a snake…_

"Time grows short. Urthemiel has already been corrupted and I do not wish to be next. The Taint spares no one but perhaps, it does and it is precisely why we need both Wardens, _alive_."

The anger left her and her form grew back into that of a young woman. The eyes reverted back to their familiar almond-shape and the face was cuter, and less triangular. She regarded Flemeth carefully, as if not fully trusting her own disciple.

"What would you have me do?"

"Observe this band of merry men and women. See how they react in their trials and tribulations. I would suggest that you study that resurrection spell soon. You will need it."

The last sentence was whispered quietly and when the clouds started to cover the moon, the Old God's form was lost in the resulting darkness, leaving behind a very puzzled Flemeth.

"Need it? As if this Flemeth needs anything!" The old witch cursed and she scowled at the Old God's warning. Flemeth has never died before and for the first time in her long life, she welcomed the idea of death.

-o0o-

Fergus thanked the Maker that he had met up with the strange but amiable Hawkes back in Lothering. If it weren't for them, he would have been freezing his bloody arse off. While the winter months had not actually started, it was still pretty cold, even for the southern regions of Thedas.

Leandra Hawke gave him one of her best fur coats, made out of the skin of a Hinterland Bears. The animals were well known for both their ferocity and their coats. Due to their coats being so valuable, especially in the winter times, the Bears were dangerously close to being almost extinct were it not for the Third Act of King Maric Theirin. The law put a limit on the numbers of bears killed and anyone caught breaking it were severely punished. How the King was able to track so many bears made Fergus wonder on whether or not magic was used or abused by the King's hand.

He had spent several days journeying through the South Hinterlands and marveled at how the roads were completely abandoned, bereft even of the King's Highway Patrol Guards. Did something happen that could have caused even the King to withdraw his troops from this far south? Of course, with Ostagar lost and the Darkspawn irrevocably marching out of the Kacori Wilds, anything could have happened. Even a King dying.

That thought made Fergus stop short in his tracks and his horse snorted at its owner's lack of direction.

If the King died, then there was no one left to legally claim the throne. While there were rumors of King Maric having a second son, one five years younger than Cailan, there was no corroborating evidence to prove it true. What was certain though was Anora conceiving no viable heir. _That means the throne is left open for any nobles. Of all the times for that to happen, it had to be now!_

He never really liked the Queen Anora but he didn't particularly dislike her either. She was fair and dull, just like any Ferelden noble. He wondered how in the world Cailan fell in love with a woman like her and had a sneaky suspicion that their marriage was politically motivated. _Which means that Loghain is as close to being a King as any other noble peasant._

Anora's sharp eyes and angular face was immediately replaced by the softer but no less weaker features of his family's. He truly missed his Oriana and his little Oren. Fergus' heart ached at how he would never see his son grow old. In fact, Oren's birthday was a week later than the Battle of Ostagar and while Fergus remembered it, he did not celebrate either. The odd absence of his son made the loss even stronger and all he did was drink in his son's memory.

Sometimes, on his journey, he could hear them speaking to him, telling him how much they loved him and missed him. The Hawkes had healed him of his injuries and so he couldn't blame this on fever. That probably meant he was losing it. _No! I have to keep going! Oriana told me that my brother is still alive!_

More voices could be heard and for a moment, the noble Cousland thought he had lost his sanity when he espied a group of men waiting for him not too far away from him. He couldn't really see the details of them, but Fergus had a hunch that they were bandits, here to prey on vulnerable travelers.

As he got closer to him, he cursed inwardly at his hunch, for it was too true.

The men were dressed in rudimentary deerskin and light armor; all bore one weapon of some shape and fashion. The ones surrounding the man in the centre held axes and long, jagged swords. The bandit in the centre, who was a head shorter than all of them, carried no weapons, which made Fergus stand up even straighter in his saddle. That usually means he's either a mage or he's very good with throwing knives. In other words, good at ranged attack.

"Stop and give us yer stuff," one of the Henchmen growled at him in a menacing tone.

"I really don't have that much stuff to give," Fergus rebutted. It was true. He had nothing except his armor. His sword and shield were lost in the Kacori Wilds. His trunk of belongings were probably pilfered through at Ostagar and shared either with other Darkspawn or roaming scavengers.

"I don't believe tha'," the short leader cried out. "He's a freakin' noble! They's always got somethin'! Take him down lads!"

Fergus, however, was ready for them. He kicked out at the nearest bandit and smiled grimly at the resulting crack of his actions. He didn't have time to relish his action for one of the bandits immediately sawed off one of the horse's legs. The horse threw its head back and let out a blood-curdling scream as it lost one of its legs. It collapsed heavily to one side, taking Fergus down with it.

Fergus said a few expletives as the bandits threw themselves on him and was given a few well-placed kicks to the stomach.

"Oh my. Somehow your noble bandits have gone from only stealing from the rich to beating up the poor. What has Thedas come to these days," another voice shouted.

"Who's that?" The leader called out and his henchmen quickly flocked in front of him to form a protective circle around the short brunette.

Fergus' vision was blurred by the agony of cracked, maybe broken ribs. Through his watery eyes, he could see a lone man standing rather close by actually. At least close enough to know that the man was a mage. His mage robes fluttered in the breeze and the head of the staff was already aimed at the group of bandits.

Two pairs of hands roughly picked him up by the armpits and Fergus slumped between them, his head hanging down. _Can't I ever get a break? Maker help me!_

"One wrong move, mister, an' this one gets it!"

Another grubby hand held his head back and the business end of a dagger pressed dangerously close against his throat. All it took was one jerk and he was done for!

The stranger chuckled and Fergus again cursed at his bad luck of first getting attacked by bandits, then by being laughed at a stranger, whose voice sounded oddly familiar.

"You know, that was funny," the stranger continued, laughing at the whole situation. Then the laugh lines disappeared and if Fergus could see, he would have noticed how angry the stranger became. "However, I know that person and he is a good friend of mine. I suggest you let him go." The statement was said in a soft, deadly tone that left no room of misinterpretation.

"Or what? From my view, he's perfectly dead and you're too far away to do anything about it!" The short man's hand trembled and the knife nicked slightly at Fergus' throat, causing blood to well up from the thin scratch.

"Oh? I think you should look again."

"Boss, there's something beneath us!" Another henchmen cried out frantically. The leader's eyes peered down and his eyes widened in horror. On the ground was a symbol of a magic spell. The boss of the henchmen opened his mouth to call for an attack but his eyes immediately glazed over as did everybody else.

Fergus felt his captors' hold on him go limp and he fell forward, hoping to the Maker that the stranger would be kind to him and put him out of his mercy. If not, then he certainly hoped that he wouldn't fall flat on his face.

His body was enveloped in a warm embrace and he slumped against the stranger's chest. His eyes fluttered open and the face he saw would have made him laugh at how small the world could be.

"Seems the Maker has His mysterious ways, huh, Fergus, no matter how fucked up the situation is. Go and rest, Fergus. I have a feeling you need it," the stranger softly commanded him.

"Loren..." Fergus breathed out his childhood friend's name and he let out a quiet sigh as his eyes closed and his body relaxed into much needed sleep.

-TBC-

A/N: Sorry for the lack of responses on the previous chapter. I posted it late at night and wanted to go to bed. So, here they are:

**YoshisSupport**: Yep, the Hawkes are officially in Amaranthine. Now the next step is getting out of there before more templars come after them!

**Madness of Angels**:You review! Yay! Don't worry about Justice. This fandom has a very different spin on things. Please don't steal them away! I need them! :D

**Aki**: I know, Anders is here! Woo! And he's already in love with Arren! Talk about love at first sight! Can your last request be just a one-shot? I just got so many things going on already...unless you want it to be another multi-chapter story? Don't worry about Alistair, he'll listen to his instincts, especially when it comes to Hadrian. Hehehe dirty thoughts running around, oh my!

**David9999:** Not entirely sure on Sten's part in all of this. I like him, despite his rough exterior. I hope you liked this chappie!

I want to know your thoughts. They feed me! :D


	29. A Secret Told

_I'm not a mage but there is something inside me, something magical and unexplainable. I know for certain that if I were to go in the Tower and the Rite was called upon, then I too will disappear."_

_ - Hadrian Cousland_

A Secret Told

"So, something is going on here, isn't it?" Alistair remarked in a somewhat cheeky tone. The Knight-Commander Greagoir glared at the senior Warden and Hadrian merely smiled at the scowling Knight Templar, hoping that it would be enough to diffuse the tension between the Templars and his group, which just happened to have an apostate.

"I see that the Chantry hasn't completely made you docile," Greagoir said dryly. The Knight-Commander's comment caused Alistair's back to straighten. Any man would respond aggressively to such an insult and Hadrian was quite pleased to notice how Alistair's eyes lit up in anger. However, while Alistair was quite good at spitting out light-hearted insults, he was unfortunately good at pissing off the wrong people.

Seeing the Tower as it is, Hadrian figured that now was not the time for Alistair to be just Alistair. As soon as Alistair opened his mouth, Hadrian pressed his foot lightly on top of his friend and cleared his throat politely. The tactic worked and Sir Greagoir shifted his gaze from Alistair to finally land on Hadrian's face.

"So, what do you propose, Sir Greagoir?" Hadrian asked in a neutral tone. The Knight-Commander's face immediately softened in worry and deep concern.

"With the presence of Abominations, I cannot risk in opening the doors again. I have lost too many men and many mages are lost already."

"Did you send anyone in the first place?"

Sir Greagoir's initial lack of response answered Hadrian's question and the noble experienced a sense of deep disappointment.

Sir Greagoir was one of the few Templars who treated his charges with respect and did not condone any insult or violence done against mages. His steady temperament helped him go through the ranks of the Templars with ease and his strict neutrality earned the respect of both factions. However, even a man of great power was vulnerable to the fears of his men and this was such a case.

Hadrian, while he understood the dangers of a crazed mage, could never understand how the fears were blown out of proportion sometimes. It often resulted in violent incursion like the one now and most often than not, the mages usually suffered the worst of the injuries and of the punishment.

Before Hadrian could speak against Sir Greagoir's actions, the Knight-Commander took in a deep breath before continuing to say, "I have sent men at the first sign of Uldred's rebellion, but then abominations started to appear more rapidly and my men fell almost as quick. I had no choice but to close the doors and keep them shut."

"Uldred?" Hadrian had heard of that name once and Loren Amell, ever the astute boy he was, told him in a flat tone that it was because of people like Uldred and Sir Greagoir that mages were mistreated thusly. _If you have two groups, one inherently powerful while the other is politically powerful, it is inevitable for them to clash, and to clash violently._ Hadrian thought Loren was just trying to be smug and all-knowing, but now he should have really paid attention to his friend's musings. Speaking of which, wouldn't Loren be in the tower?

"We'll go in," Hadrian said suddenly and to Morrigan's great disappointment. The topaz-eye witch held an immense contempt for the Mages trapped in the Tower. Her lips pursed into a thin line and she clearly showed her disapproval by saying out loud, "Oh lovely. We get to solve everybody's problems, including our very own."

Leliana scowled back at the witch but Morrigan continued speaking over Hadrian, "if we are to go then, what would happen if we fail? Will you cast the Rite of Annulment so easily then? Would you give the order, knowing that you are sending in the last scion of the Cousland Household?"

The reaction to Hadrian's secret heritage was immediately felt. There was a strange hush followed by expressions of disbelief and then great sorrow, for everyone in the Tower had heard of the Cousland Family. The executioner had no qualms in proclaiming the betrayal of the Cousland Family to the King and the subsequent execution of the entire household. However, the execution was meted out without the King's approval and confusion over the accuracy of Loghain's reports fizzled into false rumors.

"Cousland? Now, I know why you're so familiar," Sir Greagoir replied and his men hastened to his side. The sudden shift in their attitude alarmed Hadrian but a dismissal wave of Sir Gregoir's hand calmed the tension a bit.

"Loghain himself said that he had solid evidence of the Couslands sending correspondence to Orlais, letters of wanting to overtake the throne of Ferelden Herself. However, be that as it may, the last thing we need is a civil war, not with the Darkspawn hanging over our heads. Also, as old and faithful as the Couslands are to the Theirin Line, I honestly do not believe in rumors, especially when birthed by one Arl Howe."

The name of Arl Howe made Hadrian's hands ball into tight fists and Alistair noticed the sudden spike in heartbeat as well as the heavy scent of anger and vengeance. He could literally feel the heat coming from Hadrian and he placed an assuring hand on his friend's shoulder, hoping that it would alleviate whatever he was feeling right now.

It was too late for Hadrian though. His secret was out, thanks to one talkative Witch of the Wilds.

Knight Greagoir ignored his rising temper and the fifty-year old Commander turned to his men, only to demand for their vow of silence of what had just transpired in the room.

"I'm going in," was all Hadrian could say, his teeth gritting together in absolute rage. He was going to have a long talk with Morrigan after all this.

The witch herself knew what she was doing but she was not prepared for the murderous glint in Hadrian's eyes. She had known that Hadrian favoured the mages. It was this oddity that made her remember the stories he would sometimes tell, however vague they were. The stories were just relayed to her quite recently in fact, and for some odd reason, Hadrian opened up some more. Of course, a little bit of strong ale always helped and she was fascinated by how fast and how much her friend could drink and still keep conscious.

"_The Rite of Annulment doesn't just affect mages. It affects all who aren't mages but are still linked to the Fade one way or another. I'm not a mage but there is something inside me, something magical and unexplainable. I know for certain that if I were to go in the Tower and the Rite was called upon, then I too will disappear."_

Hadrian was speculating on possible scenarios but this hit too close to home and she was very sorry about having done this. However, she knew it had to be done, for her contemptible peers and for Hadrian.

Everyone took a step aside to allow for the last member of the Couslands walk by. Alistair, for once, did not hesitate on his decision and he followed suite, wanting to make sure his friend wasn't suddenly stabbed in the back by a Templar sword.

Leliana also went after them and she pulled Morrigan along, hissing in her ear, "you're coming with us."

Morrigan really didn't need any persuasion for she knew she was an apostate. An apostate surrounded by Templars was bad. An apostate surrounded by Templars who had just witnessed that mages are much more powerful and more dangerous when cornered is just ugly. Morrigan hated ugly situations and she would rather not test Fate with her stubbornness in not going after Hadrian, even if it meant swallowing down her pride.

The doors swung open to permit them entry and it shut ominously after they went through. A novice Templar whispered in another's ear, "shouldn't we go after them? A full load of Templars couldn't defeat Uldred and his rebels."

The Templar he was talking to shook his head mournfully. "It's up to them now. Either way, this is going to end. Let's just hope that they're successful."

The Knight-Commander overheard their brief conversation and he was already concerned about the group that just entered the first floor of the Mage's Tower. While it was true that the Couslands were faithful to the Theirin line, it wasn't exactly the same for the entire dynasties of Ferelden rulings. The betrayal of the Couslands to a despotic King Arland was common knowledge, as was the King's rash decision to execute all but two of the entire clan.

The Couslands weren't the only ones to suffer such an unfortunate punishment at the King's ruthless hand for the Dyrdens accompanied them in their fall from power. Tales of Sophia Dryden still circulated throughout Ferelden, some true and others completely false or embellished. Unlike the Drydens though, the Couslands remained loyal to the interests of Ferelden and their stubborn faithfulness earned them another opportunity to rise to power, especially when one Sarim Cousland saved King Maric's grandfather in one of the notorious battles against the Orlesian might.

Thus, despite the family's history of rebellion, Knight-Commander Greagoir knew that the Couslands were good judges of character. He himself was actually good friends with Bryce and it had utterly angered him that Arl Howe had even suggested of the Cousland's perfidious actions to the King's Advisor, Loghain Mac Tir.

As he saw the doors close shut after the departing party, he fully trusted that Bryce's youngest son would do everything in his power to stop Uldred. The experienced commander, for the first time ever, wished that he would see the First enchanter again, whole and stubborn as always.

-o0o-

The group didn't even raise a hand or step forward when Hadrian just slammed Morrigan into the closest stone wall. The force of it made the Witch gasp out breathlessly and she slightly slumped as a muscled forearm dug itself into her trachea, just barely allowing enough room for her to breath.

To say that Hadrian was angry was a gross understatement. Both Alistair and Leliana were both extremely shocked to see such a change overcome Hadrian, so much so that he was almost a different man and this time, Morrigan wasn't the only one to see the outline of a wolf. Its neck hairs were bristled and Alistair saw that the shadow wolf was snarling, its teeth bared at the prey in front of him.

Morrigan, for her part, did not even flinch, although her face paled considerably. Leliana was about to step forward when an arm flung out in front of her, stopping her progress.

"Alistair! He's going to-"

"No, he's not," Alistair said in a deep voice, unlike the light boyish tone he usually had when talking with others. "This is between him and Morrigan. I quite frankly don't like the woman myself, but this needs to be sorted out now."

While the two looked on the scene cautiously, the Qunari was rather amused to see such a display of power. It was not uncommon to see a strong male assert his dominance over others, although Hadrian's slender form belied such a strength that he would normally see in himself or other warriors.

If one didn't know any better, they would have laughed at the situation and scoffed at it in a nonsensical way, thinking that the Qunari was lying or something.

Hadrian's silver hair was longer than most men, but from his angular face, one could never mistake him for a woman. His eyes were too sharp to be female's and his jaw too square too either. Those manly features did nothing to mar the man's beauty. It rather contrasted nicely with his slender, but toned form and the Qunari, while he never looked upon another male in an abnormal way, appreciated the form standing before him.

"Morrigan," Hadrian snarled at the witch, whose own eyes glared back at him.

"You know full well that this secret, if kept a secret any longer, would be deadly to us!"

"It is still _my_ secret. I don't know how you knew about this and I feel like I can't trust you anymore. What other secrets do you know? Tell me! Let's have it out here and now!"

The forearm pressed even harder and Morrigan started to gasp for air. Now her hands clutched desperately at the offending arm. Her eyes darted nervously to the others, silently begging for help, for any form of interference. She got what she asked for, but not in the way she wanted help.

The bumbling idiot, the _stupidest member_ of the group, grabbed a hold of Hadrian's shoulder and pulled him off the witch. The man, lost in his anger, swung a fist at his assailant only to find himself in Morrigan's position, except there was no arm pressing against his throat. Instead, a pair of strong, but comforting hands pinned his shoulders and Hadrian was about to snarl a warning at Alistair only to find himself staring into another wolf's visage, the intense brown eyes staring back at his own.

_Was this what Zarieth meant? That he was special?_

Alistair leaned forward and Hadrian shivered at the man's hot breath blew softly in his ear, as he spoke the following words, "calm and desist. Breath me in and let everything fall away. Focus on me and only on me."

Hadrian gasped as the world itself fell away until there was only him and Alistair. Alistair's intense brown eyes and his dominating posture differed so much from the man he knew as a clumsy former Templar.

Then Zarieth appeared at his side and tried to smile, which really turned out to be his teeth baring rather viciously at Hadrian.

_It seems that he has started to accept his role, althoug instinctively. Follow your instincts, Hadrian. Let them guide you to your true self, your destiny..._

"Hey," that same voice, but lighter in pitch, startled him and those same hands that had pinned him against the stone wall shook him, to bring him back to the present.

His eyes blinked at the odd scene and found that Alistair was still looking at him, but those eyes were back to their soft, chocolate selves. Was that just his imagination then? Had his own fancies taken effect?

"You okay now?" Alistair's soft voice echoed in the empty halls. The others gazed at the pair in concern.

"Yes," Hadrian felt oddly calmer now and was chagrined to see a dark bruise at the base of the witch's throat. "Sorry, it's just..." _How can you apologize for choking someone to death?_

"'Tis nothing. I can heal myself just the same." The bruise faded then, until there was nothing left that had been evident of her near death experience. The witch barely winced as her hand rubbed over her throat, soothing the assaulted area.

"Come on, Hadrian," Leliana quietly urged her friend, trying her best to diffuse the situation. "We have mages to save, don't we?"

The man nodded in agreement and he made a move to push Alistair away but the other man, as if sensing his very thought, stepped back, although a hand hovered near his shoulder for support.

"Yes. I've a friend to rescue. He owes me something," was Hadrian's reply as the man lead the way into the hearth of chaos, followed by four companions, each now having different opinions of their leader.

-TBC-

**Review responses**:

DZD3: Thanks sooo much for the review. Like you, I'm a picky reader too. Also, don't worry about sounding like a teacher. We really need teachers nowadays and good ones too! Plz keep reviewing! It makes my day to see people review. :D

gatorsnacks: I do have a couple of mini-stories going on but they will diverge into newer fics later on.

The kid: Arrghh! I severely disliked the developers twisting Anders like that but hopefully in DA 3, everything should turn out ok. I will do my best in keeping Anders in character and it will be kinda difficult since I've yet to complete the Awakenings expansion pack. And yes, there'll be plenty of kisses and cute romantic scenes going on. Don't worry about that! Also, like you, I didn't like leaving Cullen there all by himself in the tower. In DA 2 though, he's much more handsome and stronger in character as well.

David9999: Yes, Flemeth is here! * shudders * Anyhoo, I had no idea about DA 3 coming out next year. I have to check that out! Thanks.

Madness of Angels: Sorry about the absence of Hawke and Anders. They'll be in the next chapter. Can you review anyways? Plz?

YoshisSupport: No tease ending this time! Woo!

**Upcoming chapter**: Fergus catches up with an old friend while Anders finds something that would change his life forever. Meanwhile, something stirs in the deep caverns underneath Cousland Castle and Arl Howe is one not to stand idle while something mysterious is occuring right underneath his nose.


	30. Catching Up With You

CHAPTER 30: Catching Up With You

Fergus' eyes snapped open and he jerked upwards, gasping out his wife's name.

"Easy there," a familiar face soothed him as gentle hands coaxed him back into the blankets. As soon as he was settled, a cup appeared at his lips and he drank it without hesitation, coughing slightly at the bitter tang of the contents. The liquid made his stomach become warm though and Fergus' breathing eased out from his coughing phase.

"Better?" A question was asked of him and Fergus' eyes turned upwards, to see a young male face looking down at him, warm green eyes peering at him with deep concern.

"Yes," Fergus coughed slightly and he cleared his throat.

Satisfied that his patient was better now, Loren placed the now empty cup to the side and sat back on his rump, with the fire crackling softly behind him.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be heading home?" Fergus noticed that Loren didn't ask if he was heading back to his family, just his home. Did his friend know what really happened? If so, how and why?

A quizzical expression appeared on Loren's strong face and Fergus sighed. He really didn't want to relay his story. The grief was still there, still hovering strong at the edge of his senses. However, the voices of his family had gone, leaving him feeling oddly abandoned and yet at the same time, more at peace now.

"I heard rumours," Loren started to say, his voice low and soft, as if the mage was unsure of what to say next.

"They're not rumors," Fergus snapped harshly, perhaps too harshly for his childhood friend looked hurt, his eyes even more downcast. An awkward silence occurred and Fergus sighed. He had enough of this dreaded feeling and gave the blonde mage a kind smile. "Sorry, it's just, it's too fresh to talk about it; that's all."

"I understand. When I was taken from my family, I refused to talk to anyone for months."

"What made you break in the end?" Fergus was curious to hear more of the backstory of his closest friend's life. Actually, Loren was more of a brother to him and Hadrian, who was the youngest of the trio by two years.

His friend snorted at the word 'break' and then laughed out loud, taking Fergus by surprise at his weird behaviour.

"You know," Loren said, amidst bursts of laughter, "all it takes is for someone to understand you, intimately, to understand of what you're going through."

"Well, weren't plenty of mages like you? I mean, one of a Templar's duty is to find mages that have gone missing or just been discovered. Speaking of which, what are _you _doing here?"

Loren's laughter stopped short and his friend's eyes grew more serious, and more suspicious, as if he didn't trust his own friend. For a long moment, the oldest Cousland thought that maybe he had offended his friend. Loren's eyes became quite iridescent with power and Fergus almost shivered at feeling the energies crackle around his friend's body.

"Something bad happened at the Tower," Loren finally said, his mouth tightening into a grimace. Fergus could tell that he was struggling to restrain himself. The mage's entire body was tensed and the Cousland felt that if he said the wrong word or made the wrong move, then Loren would either fight or bolt from him.

"What happened? C'me on, you can tell me."

"I…it…it was pretty bad…"

"Can't be as bad as my family dying, right?" The injured man attempted a laugh and failed poorly. It only resulted in him wincing from his healed injuries and Loren just shook his head in disagreement.

"To violate such a person who you are supposed to be protecting is just as bad," Loren whispered hoarsely and eyes shuttered closed at that indelible memory. Rough hands caressing his body while teeth and nails scratched at him in his attacker's frenzy in assaulting him. Then, that horrible, agonizing pain of penetration. _You'll never be free of me, mage. We own you, body and soul._

Hands clasped around his shaking ones and the strength in them, as well as the familiarity, anchored him to this world. He managed to take a breathe and his friend waited patiently for him, somehow knowing what Loren was trying to say but couldn't.

"I had no idea," Fergus murmured quietly and he let go of Loren's hands, trying to not overwhelm the young mage with physical touch.

"It's ok. Luckily, someone found out but it was too late by then."

"Who took him off you?"

"Would you believe that it was another Templar? I think," Loren paused for a second as he tried to remember exactly who had stopped his rapist from finishing the job. "I think his name was Cullen."

Fergus saw a dreamy look overcome Loren's face and he had a hunch that this Cullen person was something of a rarity in the Templars. Only male Templars guarded the mages in the Tower. Females were forbidden due to a higher chance of them succumbing to the wiles of an imprisoned mage. Unfortunately, when given such power of a group of people, it often led to violent incidents and discrimination; not even men could withstand the temptation of holding power over others and not act on baser instincts. Fergus heard gossips from other nobles who either had relatives in the Tower or just knew someone. Gossips of not so nice things happening in the Circle and how most of them involved the rough dealings with Templars circulated around Thedas. Sadly, that's all they were though, just gossip and not enough corroborating evidence for the Divine to investigate into it.

"So, why isn't he here, with you?"

"Different ideals, that's all. They were going to turn one of my friends and I, like an idiot, went with his side of the story. Unfortunately, the consequence of our action was either be turned into one of _them_ or leave. I clearly chose to leave and it was a good thing too; otherwise, you would be dead now."

"And Cullen?"

"He…he wanted me to stay, so he could better protect me. When I told him that I couldn't stay, he got mad and left."

"So, what now?"

"I was tracking my friend down and I have come across some very interesting news that you should hear, not that what I just told you wasn't interesting enough."

Fergus would have loved to hear more of the story, but his eyes grew heavier and heavier. Loren must have sensed his increasing lethargy for his friend gathered the blankets and tucked them around the man's shoulders.

"Sorry…" Fergus whispered to his friend, his eyelids drooping in the process, "I didn't mean…to…." The rest of the sentence was trailed off and soon Loren was gazing down at his sleeping friend. He brushed off a lock of brown hair and mused on truly small the world is.

Loren felt sympathetic towards his good friend and as he continued to gaze upon the slumbering Cousland, he wondered if he would see that Templar again and if he was missing him as badly as the mage was missing him. _No, it wouldn't ever work out. A Templar and a mage. That's like water and oil, immiscible and impossible to endure._ But Loren was all about doing the impossible and his next impossible goal was to get his best friend out of whatever mess he landed into now.

Fergus woke the next day, feeling a lot better than the day before. His ribs were healing quite nicely, according to Loren. Also, he actually had a pleasant dream of his wife and son, who both told him that they were faring quite well in the Fade and they would always watch over him. _Dark times are ahead, my beloved, but you won't spend them alone…_ That's what Oriana had told him and the way she winked her eye at him made him blush and wonder what exactly she was hinting on. Surely his own wife couldn't expect him to move on so quickly, especially without some closure like an internment of sorts.

Loren's news was indeed very interesting and whatever hope he had invested in the Guerrin Family was immediately dashed when the blonde mage informed him of Arl Eamon's poisoning and how it coincided with his friend's sudden disappearance. When Fergus asked him of what he plans on doing, Loren simply shrugged his shoulders and replied in a very nonchalant tone, "whatever it takes to get him back. It's what friends do."

Fergus thought on what he should do next. The Guerrin family was quite old and just as respectable as the Couslands were, despite the Arlessa having had Orlesian origins. The peasants working on the Guerrin's estates as well as those who were the Guerrins' vassals were outwardly loyal to Arl Eamon, but they held themselves at a distance when dealing with the Arlessa, Isolde. The Fereldens had just recently fought off the Orlesian usurpers and thirty years of freedom did not grant them enough time for feelings of resentment and a righteous ire to pass peacefully. While those who disliked the Arlessa wisely held their tongue, more out of fear of being executed on her orders than anything else, they absolutely loved the younger brother, Teagan.

He had missed Teagan from all the times they spend visiting each other and from the sounds of it, Teagan could probably use his help in dealing with angry peasants and lesser nobles as well. Finally having come to a decision, Fergus opened his eyes and saw that his friend had already packed things up from. The fire was doused just now, probably when he was meditating on what he should do next, and his small pack appeared to be bigger than it initially was.

"Seems you've made your mind, hmm?" Loren said. His mage robes looked as if they were washed just recently and Fergus wondered exactly on how much time he had spent out like a light. One thing Fergus noticed immediately was Loren's lack of staff and that observation instantly put the Cousland on edge. The only mages who bore no staffs or any conduits to channel their energies through were either extremely gifted mages or blood mages.

"Don't worry," Loren told him in a reassuring tone. As if knowing his friend's thought, he held his arms up, to allow the loose sleeves come down. The arms lacked the telltale scars of a blood mage and the skin tone appeared normal and unblemished. "I'm not a blood mage, Fergus. I'm offended that you would think of such a thing of me."

The haughtiness born from being a noble could never be truly erased under the burden of a new and suppressive life. It returned full force and the way the green eyes sparkled with light anger reminded Fergus of his childhood friend again, when he was slightly more carefree and innocent. The Cousland gave another start. He never noticed how much Lore changed until he finally took a good look at him.

Those emerald eyes were already seen as too mature, too old to be placed in the frame of a young child. Now, though the face and the body caught up in maturity and growth, the eyes became far older, as if they had seen things normal people shouldn't have seen. Then again, most _normal_ people weren't mages and were priviledged in having to see abominations run amuck, to not hear the demons whispering to them in seductive voices.

Loren had always been a tall boy for a mage and even now, as Fergus came to stand before him, the former towered over him by well over six inches. His slender frame filled out quite well over the years but Fergus knew that while the mage had magic virtually at his fingertips, he didn't rely on it too much. _To have such dependence on something that can be taken away from you is dangerous._ He was told that by this same man, only it was ten years ago. Who thought that a mere child could say such adult things? They weren't supposed to be saying mature stuff like that.

"Fergus, you're thinking again," Loren chuckled and the Cousland blinked a couple of times, trying to get out of his hazy thoughts. The tall blonde smiled at him again and his hand moved inside his robe, only to bring out a slender piece of wood that was sanded down into white smoothness. It had intricate patterns etched along the sides of it and wrapped around until the symbols ended at the tip. "My staff got broken, so I had to make a new one. I figured since a long staff would have a higher chance of breaking again, I should go for a shorter one. My best one yet, made of whitewood and hardy as steel."

The Cousland man inspected the short wand with curious eyes and, when Loren placed it in his hands, was surprised that it was as light a feather but held heat, perhaps from its previous owner. The words that decorated the short staff weapon were in ancient elven in fact, not that Fergus could understand any of it.

"It means, _to the wielder, may you bring justice and peace to those who want it._"

"Did you put it on there?"

"Yes. I made it, but not without help of my friend, Jowan. He's better at staff-making than doing normal spells."

"This Jowan-"

"Again, we're not together, and yes, I believe he's in Redcliffe."

_Maker's arse! It's like he read my mind or something._ There was an amused twinkle in Loren's eyes and Fergus shouldn't be so shocked to know that Loren could anticipate his questions. He could never beat him at a game of chess anyways nor beat him at any game that required strategy. The only thing he could beat Loren was in hand-to-combat, without any magic involvement.

"What's he doing there? Redcliffe is far from home and the Arlessa, Isolde, hates magic."

"I honestly don't know. Maybe sight-seeing?"

Fergus made a sound of frustration at the sarcastic remark. Some things just never changed and one of them was Loren's penchant for making witty, sarcastic comments. He turned his eyes north, to the right of the sun, and saw the tall tower of Redcliffe Castle. From their position and with any luck, they could make it before the sun set again.

-o0o-

"A phylactery?" Arren's eyes blinked rapidly as the young mage tried to understand the idea of using a vial of blood for tracking purposes.

If it were any other person, Anders would have said something very cynical and sarcastic. However, given the man's past, the older mage understood why Arren seemed to be confused.

"Yes. When you are brought to the Circle for the first time, the first thing they do is obtain a sample of your blood. They store it in a very secure place because that is the only way to track you down if you escape."

"I'm guessing, they know where you're at then." Arren's shoulders slumped and there was such a dejected look on the mage's face, it made Anders want to gather him in his arms and to comfort him. Anders did that mentally but when in a roomful of full of strange people who were the said mage's family, especially one other male who probably could kill him if he made any move towards his brother, the blonde mage did no such thing. Instead, he bestowed a kind smile upon this man, who had saved him from the Templars.

"Don't worry. They may know where we are, but thank the Maker they can't fly directly to us. I think the Divine would just fall over in her Seat if her Templars could do that."

The image of an old woman collapsing back in a dead faint prompted forth some laughter from both mages, which caused the other man to glare at them before being pinched by another woman.

"Ouch! Would you stop doing that, Bethany?" Carver rubbed against his hurt but the brunette merely shook her head at her twin brother before whispering hoarsely at him, "and would you stop starting at them? He's not going to hurt him!"

"I don't know. You don't think it's strange that as soon as we arrive in Amaranthine, we see this guy here," Carver's eyes flickered briefly back to the duo before returning to his sister, "who just _happens_ to be going to Amaranthine as well?"

"He could just be doing the same things we're doing, Carver," Bethany huffed, her hands on her hips. Her gray eyes flashed angrily at her brother, who was always questioning something, whether it be their brother's doings or fate herself. "Getting out of Ferelden while we still can before the Darkspawn takes over it."

"He's an apostate! More Templars will be coming after us now!"

"Don't be such a whiner! We've done this before. It'll just be like before, except we have one more man."

"Better we have taken that other man than picking up this straggly mage," Carver grumbled underneath his breath. He felt someone staring at him and discovered, to his chagrin, that it wasn't his sister but the _straggly mage_ himself. Sharp light brown eyes gazed steadily at him and Arrren, always the nice Arren, asked the mage if something was the matter. Carver unknowingly let out a relieved sigh when the mage dismissed his brother's concern. Unfortunately, he didn't get away with his rude comment and pain exploded on the right side of his face. _That_ was from his sister. Bethany was rather strong for a woman her size and he felt it every time she punched him out of anger. This was no exception and he didn't bother to try to soothe the hurt. Instead, he let it burn and ache. He really did deserve that. It wasn't as if this mage was following them. In all actuality, they were probably seen as following him really, seeing as how they just popped into existence right in the middle of an extraction point, where Templars find and subdue mages.

What was worse though was that strange scream that both emitted and Carver could have sworn on his father's grave that he saw an outline of something, a large creature with wings that were fully extended. He hadn't brought that up yet with his brother or his sister in fact. _They wouldn't believe me anyways. Think I've gone and lost my marbles..._

"If you haven't forgotten, Carver," Bethany hissed at him, her hand still in a clenched fist at her side. "That he chose to not go with us. Besides, I think something happened to him and he preferred to deal with it on his own, not in the company of strangers."

"What could happen to him? He's a noble. He's got family to go back to. A nice castle, some servants, maybe some woman to look after too," Carver bit back and he visibly flinched as he saw that same fist tighten even more, to where he could see the pale skin tighten around the knuckles.

"Bethany!" A sharp voice called out and Bethany groaned at having been denied another opportunity to whack some sense into her brother. "We shouldn't spend time arguing and punching each other! We've got other things to worry about."

It was Arren who stopped her and he was heading towards his twin siblings, followed closely by the blonde mage. Carver's eyes narrowed at how little space there was between his older brother and this strange man they had rescued. The strange man, for his part, merely smiled at him before turning his eyes on the dark-haired man beside him.

"Anders," Arren started. _Forgot about his name already_. Carver scowled even more but Arren continued, "thinks that his phylactery may have been taken from the Tower itself and is in one of the warehouses. He said it's heavily guarded by Templars-"

This time, Carver had to say something, no matter how 'whiney' it may sound.

"Wait, wait. You're not actually thinking about going with this Anders, here are you? Think about it, brother. Amaranthine may not be crawling around with Templars like other cities, but if his story really is true, then it will be difficult in getting out of the city."

"His story _is_ true," Arren said affirmatively and everyone could see how his golden eyes flashed with power at his brother's insinuation. "Also, we could use a powerful healer on our team, don't you think, brother? Unless you want to be healed by me or Bethany again?"

The brunette grimaced at Arren's perfectly logical comeback. _How does he do that? Every time I think of something, he always has something even better than that..._

"We were doing fine without him," Carver mumbled quietly.

"No, we weren't," Arren replied in a strong voice. "You know yourself that it was only a matter of time before we are overwhelmed. What would have happened if I fell back in Ostagar? Or even Bethany? Or perhaps both? Did you think of that, little brother? You relied on us, even without knowing it yourself."

"Arren, stop this!" Bethany tried to come in between the two brothers, but even her own mother pulled her out of this. When she protested and attempted to worm her way back into the argument, Leandra just clasped her shoulder even tighter and shook her head.

"Look," Carver argued back. "All I'm saying is to not just blindly follow this man's story. I mean, how do you know if he's not a blood mage, leading you on with some spell?"

"I trust him, just like I trust you all to watch my back. Perhaps it is you who doesn't trust me and my decisions."

With that said, the two brothers just stared at each other before Leander clapped her hands, telling everyone that it was dinner time. No one disobeyed mother and the rest of the evening was spent in awkward silence.

Anders felt increasingly bad for having put this family under so much stress. However, as he felt Arren'shand subtly cover his underneath the dinner table, the guilt was soon driven away and something in his mind grew warm and comfortable. He never believed in love at first sight, but when he gazed into the dark-haired man's topaz orbs, he definitely believed that there was a shared attraction between the two of them. It just needed to be kindled and the blonde mage had a feeling that once kindled, it could never be doused out.

-o0o-

It had been only a month since the day of his successful takeover at the Cousland Castle, but Arl Howe could still smell the burning stone, the fresh blood that had spilled out unto the paved causeways and forever staining the landscape of what was once the Couslands' home.

Once he penetrated the home and trapped his dear friend, Bryce, in the pantry, along with his wife, he was fully prepared to get his wish. He had wanted Eleanor, the fair Cousland wife, to kiss his feet in submission but time was of the essence and he needed to kill them. Before he could do so though, something had flashed before his eyes and loud, mournful howls echoed throughout the hallways. They reverberated into the stones themselves and struck deep into his soul, or what's left of it.

When the flash went away and his eyes opened, he was utterly dismayed to find them slumped over each other, their lifeless eyes gazing at him, mocking him even in death. Furious at his chance of killing them being taken away, he marched out of the room and barely missed the dark shadows that shifted for a moment before finally stilling into darkness. Were he to look closer and more carefully, he would have already found the last member of the Couslands, the more important one anyways. Fergus had already been sent to Ostagar and the rogue noble thought that if the upstart noble didn't die by Darkspawn hands, he would eventually meet his fate at his hands.

Now though, he had more pressing matters to attend to and they had led them to the deep catacombs that lay beneath the castle itself. Flemeth had contacted him just recently and ordered him to go investigate the lower dungeons of the Couslands. The old hag had the nerve to order _him_ around.

The Arl was smart enough to take some torches with him, or he would have fallen to his death, when his feet stopped at the edge of a cliff. The light radiating from his torch caused shadows to dance rapidly on the walls of stone. However, it had a short range and outside his ring of light, darkness surrounded him.

It was cold down here and not even the Arl was immune to the dangers of overexposure to the deep cold. He just hoped that whoever he had to meet would be quick about it so he could go back up and into the cozy atmosphere of his conquered place.

"_Mortal,"_ a voice hissed in his ear and the Arl jerked, so much so that he almost dropped his torch out of mere fright. "_Do you have the bodies? Do you have the blood of the sacrifices?"_

Now, the voice seemed to echo in front of him and if the Arl could scream, he would. He would not show weakness in front of a person or whatever this thing was. He was the Arl of Amaranthine and he had conquered even the oldest Couslands!

A beautiful woman hovered over him. Her body was attired in white robes and her feet were bare. Black hair covered the front of her face and Arl Howe shuddered when the strands parted to reveal a pair of cold, red eyes. They held such a menace that even the Arl shivered with natural fright. What was this creature? Why is it haunting him?

"I do not," Howe managed to muster enough courage to speak. "The bodies disappeared after the castle was burned."

"Disappeared? How can two bodies just _disappear?_"

Howe had asked himself that question plenty of times and he even tortured the men who were guarding the bodies as well. Needless to say, they were too far gone to even beg for mercy.

"You have failed me, Rendon. No matter, there are still survivors of this massacre. Two Couslands in fact," the woman cooed seductively in his ear, even though her form never budged from its position. "For your punishment though, I will curse you."

This time Howe did drop the torch and he clutched at his stomach. Agony lanced across his chest, as if he had been impaled on a longspear. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and her voice whispered from a distance, "every night, the dead shall come to haunt you, even in your dreams. It'll only stop once you give me the hearts of those that lived."

The agony halted and he let out a breathless gasp, only to find himself standing at the entrance to the catacombs. It was as if he never went down there in the first place.

_Give me the hearts of those who lived and your curse will be lifted..._

The woman's voice hissed in his ear and he clutched at it. He felt a certain wetness and pulled his hand back. Gray eyes widened at the sight of blood coating his fingertips and he blinked again. The blood disappeared but he could still feel the weight of it still. Was it just the dead that would haunt him or perhaps his own blood?_ Damn old gods! Damn them all! _Howe walked briskly down to the other entrance, the one that led upstairs and into one of the dungeons. Perhaps he should send in an assassin, to capture the brothers. His only request would be to bring them to him, _alive_ but not necessarily unspoiled.

-TBC-

**Review responses**:

David9999: Yes, he and Hadrian will become friends; they'll just have different ideals on how mages should be treated.

Gatorsnacks: I never really liked Morrigan either, but she has her uses.

YoshisSupport: almost to the kissing part! I want to develop their relationship first so at the end, it will be worth it.

Madness of Angels: More Arren/Anders cute moments! Woo! How was transformers 3? Worth seeing? Oh, Maker, please say yes!

DZD3: Although this chappie doesn't have our main pairing in it, I still hope you like Fergus, and the Hawke families, with a sour hint of Howe at the end. The tower is the next chappie.

The kid: this chappie should give you hints on what happened with Cullen and what may happen to him in the future.

Aelfric's Cat: Yeah, at the beginning of this story, I wanted to have Hadrian go through several heartbreaks and be hesitant in his budding one with Alistair. It looked rushed and perhaps that may have scared off potential reviewers. On another note, I want Hadrian to be as human as possible. Additionally, they won't have 'fixed' roles in their lovemaking but I'm trying to stick to the rules of a wolf pack as much as possible. We'll see how everything unravels between the two. Thanks so much for the critic though! It gave me a lot of insight into the story I've created and I really hope to hear from you on the succeeding updates!

My thanks to everyone!

**Next chapter**: Alistair is confused by his strange feelings for his friend and when in the Fade, he may get the answers, just not in the way he wanted them...

As the group journeys through the Tower and the Fade, they both stumble on to revelations that will either make or break them.


	31. What Dreams May Come

A/N: If it weren't for some gentle nudging from YoshisSupport and the kid, this update would have occurred quite a bit later in the week. Thanks you two!

Warnings: Some sticky action going in the second section. If you really, really want to skip it, you can but you're going to miss on some good action. Also, please forgive any mistakes that may pop out at you while reading.

**Chapter 31: What Dreams May Come**

The group's journey through the tower was not boring at all and there was tension that smothered the otherwise silent journey. There were plenty of screams and shouts, most particularly from their enemies going into their death throes. Amongst the group members themselves, they were oddly quiet, each disturbed by the recent incidents in the tower and each dealt with it in their own way.

Sten was actually the most vocal of the five-membered group, even though his only words would be either 'this is the reason why mages are leashed to their Masters' or 'Perhaps I have missed something when observing the true nature of humankind.'

Leliana, for all her talk about legends and stories that she had heard from other people, was strangely mute. Her only responses to the ever changing environment, from one floor to the next, were pursed lips and sparkling green eyes that bespoke of some intelligence wanting to speak out but afraid of doing so due to what Hadrian had almost done almost a candlelight ago. She had always figured that their 'leader' was a gentle man of noble bearing, whether it from an ancient line of nobles or just a trait. Having spent most of her life studying people and analyzing them for her previous profession, she had a strong hunch that Hadrian was indeed hiding something from them. She just didn't know what. Oh, she knew for certain that he was a noble. The high cheekbones, the strong jawline, and that regal bearing he had were all telltale signs of a noble. His spirit was too proud to be that of a peasant or a merchant. Not that either of them really mattered to her anyways. The Maker Himself told her to accompany the Wardens specifically and she will do it, no matter the costs.

The beautiful redhead wasn't the only one who kept quiet. Morrigan walked with them, not with head bowed down in submission, but with a wry smile on her pale, heart-shaped face. Black bangs hung over her eyes, almost hiding their golden depths from onlookers, who would probably have their eyes stray downwards if they couldn't meet her eyes. Every so often, her throat would close up and she would cough lightly. The witch could still feel the muscled forearm pressing against her throat, although that occurred a long time ago.

Every time she coughed, which she tried very hard to suppress, both Hadrian and Alistair would look her way. The former with an apologetic expression on his fair face, while the latter looked mildly bemused and concerned at the same time. Alistair had never truly hated anyone in his life and Morrigan was no exception. He just didn't like the way the woman rubbed off on him. Her sinewy, almost snakelike movements made him shudder as they reminded him of a large snake he had come across once in his childhood, a snake that actually bit him on the leg more out of fright than anything else. To his misfortune, it was a very poisonous asp that had bitten him and only through the Maker's grace did he survive those horrible, feverish nights. The only thing he remembered was Teagan murmuring to him in reassuring tones while his nephew cooed at him, his cool hands touching his skin and seemed to heal him as well.

The group had picked up another member along the way and, to Morrigan's ultimate dismay, she _was_ very useful and very patronizing all at the same time. The elder mage took her position at the rear, her valuable healing skills not exactly appropriate for a frontal assault, a position that was reserved for the three warriors up front. While she did not personally witness that troubling scene with Hadrian and Morrigan, she was astute enough to notice the the rolling tension between the two. However, with the Tower being such a state as it is, she pushed aside her observations, not wanting to add insult to injury.

Unfortunately, the silence was eventually broken down. The encounter with a Sloth Demon was both abruptive and almost welcoming; his seductive tones pushed their wearied minds into forced sleep and Hadrian wasn't the only one who didn't really fight against it.

_Your soul would have been delicious, human. But it's already tainted..._

That's what Sloth had said to him as the world darkened around him and the sweet arms of oblivion took him into its bosom.

-o0o-

Alistair wasn't really surprised when he found himself lying underneath that same tree again. It provided him sanctuary when he was in the need of finding solitude, away from the abuse of his surrogate mother. No, she wasn't a mother, never to him. Her cold blue eyes would stare at him, emotionless. She reserved all her loving for her darling son, Connor and saved all her temper and anger for Alistair. Teagan really did try his best in redirecting her temper but he couldn't fully do it while not overstepping his boundaries. Even an Arl's brother was submissive to the Arlessa, but only just slightly. That _slightly_ part though was enough for Teagan to not risk the ire of his brother.

What did surprise the young Grey Warden was a very warm body curled up next to him. Alistair discovered that he was spooning this person and that the person he was with was certainly _not_ a female. The flat chest was clear evidence of that observation. Also, the shoulder length, silver hair that he was currently breathing in told him it could only be one person and he flung himself backwards, shocked at the revelation. _No! There's no way! I haven't even kissed a girl and am already spooning against a guy!_

Incoherent mumbles could be heard from the older Warden and he rolled unto his right side, directly facing the pale Alistair. Eyes opened to reveal a pair of shining blue orbs, so different from the Arlessa's cold ones and Alistair unwittingly fell into those endless depths of blue.

"Al? What's wrong?" The words were slurred, the owner still trying to wake up. A hand reached up to cup his cheek and Alistair gasped at the rough feel of the palm. Calloused from sword-handling and hard training, the hand was not smooth or frail. He sensed strength in it and marveled at it. Hadrian shifted closer and Alistair let out a soft gasp again as a half-erect member rubbed sensually against his thigh. _We're naked?_

"Was the previous night too hard on you? You did take me a couple of times and I, you."

_What? Take? As in...as in..._Images of a man and a woman popped into his mind, except the woman had changed into Hadrian himself, as they became entangled in the tender acts of lovemaking.

"Erm...umm..." _Great, intelligent response moron!_ Alistair chided himself harshly and he heard a light chuckle.

"Perhaps I should remind you of what happened last night or rather earlier this morning."

Alistair's eyes enlarged in fright as Hadrian moved on top of him, their shafts pressing against each other. He couldn't help but let out a moan, especially when Hadrian rolled his hips down and in, pressing himself fully into Alistair's crotch. He didn't think that the sinful pleasures of the body would effect him in the spirit world, but they did. _No! I...I can't...I can't do this! This is Hadrian!_

"Al? C'me on. Please?" Hadrian's voice begged him and the pleading tones tugged at his heart. Hadrian moved his body against his, their nipples brushing against each other and causing jolts of pleasure to lance through the both of them. "Alpha, please..."

The word _Alpha _caused a surge of an unfamiliar feeling, a sense of desire for this man. He heard a wolf howl in recognition of its mate and was astonished to find that it was him, his inner wolf that had howled out. While his wolf welcomed the attentions of the silver-haired being that had straddled his waist, the man fought against it. _I'm not ready! Not ready to face this...even though..._

Yes, he remembered now. The fleeting thoughts of wanting to be with Hadrian, whether it be out of a platonic want or perhaps something more, something deeper than just mere friendship.

That little slip allowed the inner wolf to take full control. He reared up and roughly slammed Hadrian underneath him. Soft pants were heard and he saw that Hadrian bore a pair of strange ears on top of his head. Where had those come from?

"So, the Alpha has come out to play," Hadrian said or rather panted. Hazy blue orbs gazed back at his and soon, when Alistair lost himself again in their fathomless pools, he allowed himself to do so and never felt a twinge of regret as he placed a chaste kiss on those red lips. Two arms wrapped around him and pulled him down. Any other thoughts or regrets that would have plagued the younger Warden's mind were kept in the dark, successfully smothered by the intense love he held for Hadrian.

It was only afterwards, when Hadrian had fallen asleep again at his side, that those thoughts returned but his mind was more at ease now, seemingly satisfied by what had transpired between them. Unfortunately, the presence of someone broke his peace and he looked up, only to find a pale-looking doppelganger of Hadrian standing right next to him, with a large wolf at his side.

-o0o-

_This is but a manifestation of your desires, of his desire. _Zarieth walked beside him and Hadrian petted the large wolf's head as he watched Alistair look fondly over at his spiritual version. Hint of jealousy rose up inside Hadrian but he quickly quelled it. He refused to get jealous of his own self!

Alistair suddenly jerked his head up.

"Hadrian! This...I...we...what are you doing here?" He scrambled to his feet quickly and then blushed as he realized that he was still naked. He was essentially showing Hadrian his goods.

"Alistair, we need to leave." Hadrian's voice sounded harsher than he intended but the last thing the wanted to see was a version of himself seducing Alistair into staying in the Fade, to eventually die and be permanently stuck in this spiritual world.

"No, Al," the other Hadrian had woken up and was now standing in front of him. "He's just a spirit, trying to make you leave."

"What? Why would he do that?" Confusion clouded the handsome features of his friend.

"Because he doesn't want you happy," the spiritual Hadrian intoned. "He denies this feeling between us."

"Alistair, think about this," Hadrian spoke out to him, almost pleading with him. Pleading? Since when had he ever begged someone to do something?

Alistair hesitated and Hadrian hated himself to having to do this to his friend. He really cared for him, truly. Making him choose between himself and the spiritual friend wrung his heart but Hadrian was determined to bring Alistair out of the fade.

"If you stay here," Hadrian said, "then you'll prove Morrigan right and your absence..."

Hadrian paused for a second before finally saying, "then I will be unhappy. If you stay here, then there _is_ no chance for us."

What Hadrian said seemed to have rung true for Alistair's eyes hardened, the younger Warden not wanting to miss out on his chance for true happiness.

He began to walk forward but was suddenly thrown back by the spiritual Hadrian, a hideous mask of rage etched on that dark face now.

"No! You won't have him! He deserves us! He deserves a better life!" The voice snarled at Hadrian and Alistair shuddered at hearing the multitude of voices crying out. It sounded demonic and the revulsion at seeing that awful face of the spiritual Hadrian made Alistair want to puke. However, something inside him made him _want_ to protect the real Hadrian.

The spiritual version sprung for his enemy, a sword suddenly appearing in his hand. Alistair's inner wolf growled viciously inside of him, angry that someone would dare strike at what's rightfully his. In a sudden blur of movements, he managed to protect Hadrian and those haunting eyes of the spiritual one stared back at him, hurt at the betrayal. Hands clawed at him as he took out the sword that had been embedded in the doppelganger's chest. Even though it was the spiritual one he had killed, Alistair's heart still twisted painfully.

"Alistair..." Hadrian began to say but he stopped. What _could_ he say to a man who had killed a version of him?

"Hadrian?" Alistair asked him in a frightened tone. "What's happening to me? Why do I feel this way? For you?"

"We'll talk about it later," Hadrian promised him and he clasped his friend on the shoulder, trying to convey some reassurance to the taller man. Even that brief touch brought shivers down Hadrian's spine.

Alistair opened his mouth but he slowly disappeared into the background, a very confused look on his face. Hadrian sighed heavily. Now, there was no way he could get away without having to explain himself.

"Do not worry so much about it," Zarieth said to him and Hadrian just scratched his ear, uncaring that his hand was very close to the open mouth with sharp teeth decorating the top and bottom. "Sloth is your major concern now. Defeat him and return to the real world. There, you and Alistair have a much needed discussion. The moon is near fullness and I suggest that you both go far away from your camp than usual. You will need the space."

-o0o-

"You! You're the one who torments me so!" The templar moaned as he stared at the approaching Cousland, who watched him with curious eyes. The noble had never seen him before and yet this imprisoned man speaks to him in such a familiar way.

"Stupid idea of his!" The man continued to mutter in a nonsensical way and Hadrian looked to Alistair, thinking that maybe he was acquinated with his man, seeing as how they were both Templars or at least had Templar training and seemed to be around the same age as well.

"Cullen!" Alistair started with some surprise and walked even closer to the prison, tsking at how the barrier was so strong that he could feel it humm with power once his hands touched the wall. The named Templar's head jerked upwards and the green eyes, once dazed and unfocused, began to grow more lucid.

"Alistair? Is-is that you?" Cullen rose from his pitiful stance. His hands shook as they too touched the wall of his prison. "No! You're just an illusion, just like _him_, he left me, he left us for that mage!"

"Who left you?" Now Hadrian stood next to his friend and he had a feeling that he knew what the imprisoned Templar was talking about. Cullen's eyes flickered nervously between his and Alistair before cringing back, his body coiled as if the two Wardens were maleficars themselves.

"Loren; I promised that I would protect him but he doesn't understand! Doesn't understand!" Then before they could ask any more questions, Cullen gave a low moan and sobs could be heard from the poor Templar. "Hear their screams...oh god...the screams! Please...make...make them stop!"

"Cullen..." Alistair's heart wrung at the wretched state of his childhood friend. The younger Warden remembered how he and Cullen used to be together for some time before he was fully initiated into the Templars. Being that he was four years older than Alistair, Cullen had only spent half of his novice training with Alistair rather than the fully seven years required for it. However, they both shared the same feelings of abandonment. Cullen had always been the stronger one though and with his higher rank, often protected Alistair from the verbal and physical abuse of the other novices. To see him become this, to act like this broken, pitiful man broke Alistair's heart.

Hadrian had gently grabbed his elbow though and before he could further dwell on it, was slowly pulled away from the sobbing man.

"Hadrian, wait, we need-" Alistair's protest was then interrupted by a harsh cry. Even the quiet Sten had barely winced at the jarring sound of it.

The screams, like what the man had said, had been going on from behind a closed door for a long while and the worst of them made even Morrigan flinch. They seemed to grow even louder, as if they were beckoning for the Wardens and their group to come in and interrupt whatever was happening.

"I know, Alistair," Hadrian said to him in a low voice, "I was hoping Loren would be here, to answer my questions, but such as it is, we need to head up there, to stop this madness." Blue eyes sparkled in anger, but Alistair knew that the anger wasn't directed at him. Instead, a warm hand grasped his own, and just held it tightly for one brief second before letting go. Alistair missed the warmth though and when Hadrian turned away from him, to start for the stairs that wound upwards, he grabbed the hand without thinking.

Hadrian turned, perplexed at why his friend reached out for him. Then the frown lines of confusion gave way into that of understanding and he took his hand out of his friend's grasp. Alistair felt something tug in his heart, a feeling of disappointment as it appeared that Hadrian didn't want him to reach out. He certainly wasn't expecting a hand to cup his cheek and a voice whisper in his ear, almost seductively, "we'll talk about it later. First, let's kick this guy's ass, ok?"

Alistair just nodded his head and his heart grew warm at Hadrian's smile. The fight with Sloth denied them an opportunity to talk in the Fade. Survival at that time had overwhelmed other feelings or thoughts.

The other man then headed for the door that waited for them. Alistair felt that he was being stared at and saw the others gawking at them. His face reddened and his ears got warm. Then Leliana gave a light laugh, almost causing the younger Warden to jump out of his skin from the unexpected sound of happiness, a sound that was out of place in this dreary tower.

"Do not worry, Alistair," she said to him, a hand clasping him on the shoulder. "I understand what you're going through."

Her cryptic statement just confused Alistair even more but with Hadrian waiting for them, he didn't want to ask for an explanation. As he followed Hadrian, he took one last glance at the imprisoned Templar, who was watching them walk up the winding stairs, before turning his attention to the man standing in front of him. A look of concentration took over the man's face and like before, it made Alistair yearn for him even more. The focused, sharp blue eyes, the strong jaw, and the lips that turned into a grimace. They all made his groin tighten but the Templar shoved those feelings aside, knowing that they would only get in the way of the future battle.

Hadrian's hand reached out and pushed against the door, which swung effortlessly backward and revealed a group of people in various positions, with one man standing in the middle.

"That is Uldred," Wynne told him in a sad whisper. Hadrian's eyes narrowed at the sight of a pair of black beings that just didn't seem to belong there. They were taller than the man who stood in front of another mage, his mouth speaking and his hands gesticulating. The other mage who had his hands bound above his head in an invisible grip convulsed violently before letting out another hoarse scream of agony. Another set of murmurings and Hadrian's heart clenched as he sensed the weakening will of the bound mage, who was then suddenly let go of his binds only to fall forward in a limp heap. He could only watch as the two hideous creatures and Uldred struck out with their hands and a powerful wave of magic swept through the entire room. When Hadrian next opened his eyes, he saw that an abomination stood in the place of the downed mage.

"_This_ is why people righteously fear mages," Uldred cackled, his hands gesturing to the abominations freshly created out of three broken mages. Wynne's eyes turned sad at the sight of this failed, disillusioned pupil and behind his slender figure, she could see the slumped figure of First Enchanter Irving. His head was bowed and Wynne saw that his eyes were closed. Either the First Enchanter was asleep or unconscious.

"So, you're the one the Templars sent, hmm?" Uldred's dark eyes examined the group, lingering on the leader first. Uldred smiled darkly at Hadrian and Alistair's mouth turned into a thin line when he noticed that the hungry look of the blood mage was focused wholly on his friend. He stepped forth, to block the mage's view of his friend and was stopped when Hadrian's arm was placed in front of him, stopping him mid-way.

"Oh, I see," Uldred sneered. "Perhaps the Wardens have started hiring pretty things into their ranks for more than mere entertainment."

"Shut up," Alistair growled at him, not liking the insulting tone of the bald rebel. His hand reached for the sword, but Hadrian stopped from him pulling out his sword. A protest died on his lips at the sight of rage overtaking the calm features of his friend's face.

"Uldred," Hadrian said in a very polite manner, unlike Alistair, who just wanted to rip the man apart with his bare hands. "You'll pay for this,"

"Pay?" The mage cackled maniacally, his bald head rearing back. The abominations didn't move from their positions. "No, this is what we mages need. This suppression, it can only hold us down so much until one of us decided to take charge, to finally put the Templars in their rightful places. We tire of this, of the abuse at the hands of the Templars. No, it is people like you who will pay for this transgression, for allowing this to occur."

Uldred's tone became deeper and sounded demonic. Everybody looked on in horror as Uldred's form changed slowly into that of a huge, demonic beast that towered over them by more than five feet.

"Well," Morrigan commented dryly, "I suppose discussion is over." Her staff was already in her hands, the crystal glowing in a light tone as she readied herself for the upcoming fight.

"This is the reason why mages are leashed by their masters," Sten also commented. This rebellion disgusted the Qunari to no end and he couldn't understand why the Templars allowed the mages to roam freely, even in one place for so long.

"Enough, people," Hadrian ordered, drawing his sword and shield out. The Cousland emblem shone brightly and Alistair was sorely reminded of what the Cousland was before he became a Warden. They definitely need a talk after this, to talk about their pasts and those odd dreams of Alistair.

The group didn't need to be told twice about what to do as they all got into their appropriate positions. Despite having been together for only a month, they worked together like a cohesive unit of the King's personal bodyguards, men who had fought along side each other for years. Wynne, Morrigan, and Leliana all stayed in the back, while the warriors took up their front positions, protecting those behind him.

The fight with Uldred lasted longer than what Hadrian personally wanted, than what everybody wanted. The longevity battle allowed for more room of error to occur and Hadrian cursed as Uldred focused his attacks on the mages, sensing the weakness in their unit already. Both Alistair and Sten fought furiously at the sides, trying to avoid the towering abomination's sweeping attacks as well as his fire spell, which burned all in its path. He was too busy stopping Uldred from turning his prisoners into more abominations and had succeeded so far, thanks to Niel's Litany.

Everything was going well, until Uldred, nearing his death, exploded into a ball of fire. There was an anguished cry and Hadrian's eyes grew larger as he saw both Alistair and Sten fall away from Uldred. Wynne thankfully had covered everyone in a warding spell that protected them from the flames that were licking their bodies, but not causing them harm. Unfortunately, it didn't prevent Uldred from snatching an unfortunate Alistair into its grasp and it started to crush him, causing Alistair to scream in excruciating agony. Even from his position, Hadrian could hear bones break.

Knowing that he didn't have enough time, Hadrian threw his dagger at the monster's face and it struck true, hitting Uldred in the eye. It shrieked in pain but still held Alistair in a tight grip. The templar was no longer struggling now and Hadrian felt real fear in his heart. _No! He can't...He can't be dead! Not after this!_ Furious at how the Maker would take everything from him, Hadrian emitted a harsh howl and he charged at Uldred, whose arm flailed out to strike at him. He jumped on top of the arm and quickly struck downwards, hoping against everything that it would pierce the flesh of an abomination. The sword slid through the purple flesh easily, as if it were paper, and Uldred's grip loosened enough to release the Templar, who fell to the floor. Hadrian ducked underneath a strike and rolled next to the unconscious Alistair. "Wynne, try to heal him if you can; Morrigan, freeze this bastard!"

"I-I can't revive him, Hadrian!" Wynne shouted loudly, trying to make her frail voice be heard over the din of the abomination's snarls and Uldred's shrieks. "But I have enough mana to cast a warding spell!"

"Do that! Sten, cover me!" Hadrian cried out as he charged again at the monster. Uldred snarled at his intended victims and it took a deep breath, to then breathe out fire. It would have done so with success were it not for Morrigan's cone of cold spell that froze him on the spot and thus allowing Hadrian to jump high in the air. The only hand it had struck at him and the claws pierced his armor and flesh. It didn't stop Hadrian like what Uldred would have wanted. The Cousland was more than just a pretty thing, Uldred finally realized. He was a relentless killing machine and Uldred could only watch helplessly as the sword plough through his head. The force of the blow was so strong that it knocked the monster backward, taking Hadrian with it in its fall.

Hadrian awkwardly rolled away, groaning as shards of pain lanced his chest, almost making it hard to breathe. He laid on the ground, eyes closed and not seeing Uldred's hand reach out for him shakily but intending to smash him against the ground. Through dazed eyes, the youngest Cousland saw that Sten had taken a protective stance over him and his two-handed weapon cut the hand in half. The pieces fell harmlessly to the sides and Hadrian exhaled, his body trembling at how death had almost come for him, even at the end of a battle.

"Are you ok, Hadrian," Sten asked, concern colouring his usual apathetic tone. Hadrian shakily got to his feet, breathing heavily as he did so. When he had the energy finally, he nodded and stumbled to the dying Uldred.

"Foolish humans," Uldred croaked at Hadrian. 'But you, you and that upstart friend of yours...you're different from your foolish brethren."

"We are Wardens," Hadrian managed to say without his voice trembling. _Do not look weak in front of your enemy; be strong, even if it hurts. _His father's words echoed in the young man's mind.

"Not...just...Wardens...you're..." the sentence trailed as Uldred's eyes dimmed and his body stilled. Hadrian, to be on the safe side, plunged his sword into Uldred's neck and beheaded the monster. Not even an abomination could come back from the dead without a head.

Everyone heard the last little bit of what Uldred said, but no one understood it, not even Morrigan herself. However, the confusion brought on by the rebel's last words was immediately replaced by feelings of relief and then urgency for those still wounded.

Leliana's cry of Alistair's name caused Hadrian's head to jerk in her direction and the Cousland ran or rather stumbled to the downed man's side.

Alistair's face was turned to the side. His eyes were closed and Hadrian already missed seeing those soft, brown orbs. The paleness of Alistair's face was more suitable for a corpse and blood seeped out from deep claw gouges in his torso, where Uldred had grasped him before.

"Crap, Alistair," Hadrian cursed, cupping a pale cheek. He undid the breastplate clasps, two pairs of leather strips with metal rings at the ends that held the two pieces together. The holes in the armor were nothing compared to the torned skin and the glistening flesh that greeted Hadrian's eyes. "Morrigan, Wynne, do you have enough mana left to heal him?"

"No and we are out of lyrium and health poultices," Morrigan stated, but her hand still rummaged through the pouch she had pulled from some unknown pocket. "But there is one last injury kit. It would be enough to heal one of your injuries."

"Give it to Alistair," Hadrian said immediately. His own body protested at having been denied of being healed but Hadrian ruthlessly pushed the feelings of pain to the back of his mind. Alistair was more important. His own wounds could wait and they weren't that bad, just mere grazes.

Morrigan's eyes raked over the wounds her leader sustained during the fight. The only thing she did to show disapproval was to raise an eyebrow in question. She tipped the man's head back. "Open his mouth, Hadrian, please."

Hadrian did so and he watched the thick red syrup pour into his friend's mouth. The effect was instant and Hadrian sighed in relief as the deep gouges filled with more blood, as the torn muscles and skin knitted themselves together. It should have sickened the watching Warden, but he was fascinated by how frail the human body was and how useful and blessed magic could be in healing the fragile mortal forms. Alistair's skin darkened into its usual tanned tones and all that remained of those wounds was the layer of blood that was smeared all over Alistair's belly. His friend emitted a low, soft groan and Hadrian waited anxiously for those eyes to open. When they did, his stomach jumped in happiness at how they immediately found his without even trying to look around.

"Oh, Maker, what happened?" He gingerly sat up, with some help from Hadrian. "I feel like I was crushed by an ogre or something."

"Something like that," Hadrian informed in a very worried tone. He still found Alistair's skin too hot for his own liking and hoped that his friend wouldn't catch a fever after all this.

Wynne's tongue clucked as she moved her hands over the healed ribs and claw gouges. "Thank goodness, that health poultice was the strongest. It healed his ribs and those claw marks. Not a scar left!"

"Can you stand ok?" Hadrian asked the younger Warden as he let the man lean on him slightly when rising to their feet. Alistair stumbled a little bit when Hadrian stepped out some, to allow the man some room to breath. He caught himself in time though and managed to stay steady on his feet.

"Yes, I just hope there's some food after this, particularly some Antivan cheese." To prove his point, a growling sound could be heard and everyone stared pointedly at Alistair, who clutched at his stomach and bore a sheepish grin on his face.

Then they all laughed and Hadrian just shook his head, thanking the Maker that Alistair was well enough to be himself again. The laughter stopped though when Wynne's eyes lighted up on the still slumped figures of the bound mages and she ran to them.

The older mage was closely followed by Hadrian and the others; together they all cut through the ropes that had bound the mages' hands together. Both Wynne and Hadrian helped First Enchanter Irving up while the others aided the rest of the mages climb up to their feet.

"Thank the Maker, we are free and that Uldred is gone," Irving's voice croaked. Hadrian figured that the First Enchanter was probably tortured first and the longest, with his voice giving out on him sometimes. "Thank you, Wynne, for leading these young people to us."

Wynne's head shook in response. "No, you really should thank this young man and his friends here."

Irving turned his head to regard the man who stood on his left. "Ah, you must be that young lad who would always visit our Loren, a fine pupil."

"Hadrian Cousland," the man bowed in respect. "I am one of Loren's closest friends."

Irving's eyes grew sad at that statement.

"Sir Greagoir has yet to call for the Rite of Annullment," Hadrian said to the pair. "We best move on and inform him what transpired here in the Tower."

-o0o-

Sir Greagoir tried to keep his impatience down, but the group was taking a long time resolving this issue. His messenger that was sent to Denerim had come back, but with the way the messenger appeared, haggard and worn out, he doubted that he would get any help from the Reagent's advisor on this matter. Thus, he made recoursed to his own experience and held back the call for the Rite of Annulment. His decision was made five candlelights ago and the waiting period was straining even his own nerves.

What Templars he had left were either seen lying on the ground, recovering from wounds both visible and invisible, or pacing restlessly in the small lobby. Despite the fact that this problem was due to a mage, Greagoir really wished that he had at least one mage on his hands, a healer, anyone that could help his men out. He found it ironic that this happened, where he locked _all_ the mages in the Tower, along with half of his Templars.

His own final limit was when dawn broke. Though there were no windows in the tower, Sir Greagoir sensed that the sun was very close to rising to meet Thedas and he sighed heavily. There was no way Hadrian and his group succeeded in something that his trained Templars could not. No way in the Maker's Pits. He barked out a name and a Templar walked briskly to him, saluting him respectfully before standing into a position.

"We're pulling out. Lock down the front doors; seal the Tower."

"What about Sir Cousland and his friends?" The templar was young, Sir Greagoir noticed. Young and inexperienced. He didn't remember the lad's name; all he knew was that the red hair suddenly suited his temper: fiery and questionable. While the Knight-Commander usually punished such backtalk, especially from a young recruit, this situation didn't really call for it. He could tell the lad was already shakened by the events here and decided that perhaps he should save the punishment for a more severe infraction, like actually disobeying orders rather than questioning them.

"My faith in the Cousland boy is sorely misplaced," Sir Greagoir didn't understand why he was explaining himself to this boy. He was Knight-Commander! He didn't have to explain his actions to anyone, except for those higher than him. Perhaps, it was due to the nagging feeling at the back of his mind, the one which begged for Sir Greagoir to wait for a few more minutes at least. Of course, he had that feeling since two candlelights ago, but it grew more urgent, more incessant in its pleas. Maker cursed conscience!

"I can't risk the entire world being overrun by abominations by waiting for Bryce's son to come out and save the day!"

The last sentence was shouted at the young novice. He didn't flinch though and Sir Greagoir admired that. He bowed stiffly to his superior and was just about to head to the other Templars, who were all crowded in one corner, when a pair of doors slammed open.

Sir Greagoir was truly taken aback by the strange but certainly welcoming sight of the group that had went in a long time ago. They didn't come back unscathed, as evidenced by the dents, creases, and blood smeared all over the armor. Along the way, they must have picked up someone, a Templar named Cullen, whose arm was slung over Alistair's shoulder. He was still in a daze, the eyes looked shocked and blank, taking in nothing from the environment. The group had moved forward into the lobby and Alistair set Cullen down gently on a rolled out blanket before joining Hadrian and the rest of the group.

"Knight-Commander Greagoir," a very familiar voice intoned in a regal manner. Greagoir would know that voice anywhere and his grin itched to show itself on his weathered face. However, being a high-ranking Templar meant that one couldn't show emotions and Greagoir almost apathetically replied back, "it's good to see you, First Enchanter, Irving, and you, Wynne. You both look not too worse for the wear."

"Thanks to these five here," Irving gestured with his hand to the group standing slightly behind him.

"Has everything been situated? What about Uldred?" Greagoir's brows furrowed as Hadrian reported all that he had seen and done. What Uldred had done was very concerning to the Knight-Commander and the temptation to just call in for the Rite of Annullment was so great that he could feel his mouth working to bark that order. However, the words that flew out of his mouth astonished even him.

"Thank the Maker. I've never imagined a day where I'll be saying that I am glad to see you, Irving."

Greagoir wasn't the only surprised to hear those words and Irving inhaled sharply. "Now, we have to discuss in how to best clean up this mess."

"What about Cullen? What will happen to him?" Hadrian briefly glanced over the hunched silhouette of the man in question. Seeing such devastation on the man's face made Hadrian almost pity him and he knew that if he were to fall mad, it would be better to do so in a company of people of mixed origins, rather than of the Fade. To leave a traumatized Templar in the presence of mages would just be asking for trouble and he knew that Cullen would certainly not be missed by the other mages in the Tower. On the other hand, he would not force Cullen into doing something he didn't want to do either.

It seemed as if Knight-Commander Greagoir shared the same idea for he too stared at the other Templar, who was still dazed from recent events. "Traumatized templars and suppressed mages are usually not a good combination. It's why I'm sending him north, to Kirkwall. He'll serve in the Chantry for a few years and go through rehabilitation. Unless, you have another idea?"

Greagoir's eyes pinned their blue counterparts and the older man was not surprised to see them light up for a brief second, before calming back to their usual tones.

"Actually, yes. Perhaps he can come with us?"

Morrigan's mouth worked again, as usual, but the way her leader glared at her caused her words to get stuck in her throat. The redhead pursed her lips in contemplation and her eyes raked over the tired form of Cullen. Even she could tell that he was about to snap at any moment. The last thing these poor mages need is another self-righteous templar who is too far gone to separate what is right and what is necessary.

"What do you think, Alistair?" Hadrian's question took him by surprise and the younger Warden looked startled. He gave Hadrian a questioning look, one that said without words, _why are you asking me?_ "You knew him since you were kids."

"He's changed a lot since then…" came the weak reply and he felt a wave of disappointment radiate from his friend. It was odd to him how he could act so confident and yet so timid at various points of this entire journey. He didn't want to see the disappointment in those blue eyes and he took a deep breath, before finally answering, in a much firmer tone, this time, "but I believe we can help him out; we all went through some traumatic experiences."

Alistair's heart fluttered at the pleased expression on his friend's face and he discovered that he wanted to see if he could have the silver-haired man make other expressions, like those he saw in the Fade. The flushed look of want, the kiss-swollen lips that parted gently to allow soft moans and gasps to be released. His hands just ached to touch him and the poor Warden didn't understand why he just wanted to reach out and touch his friend, to caress and hold him, to love him in the way that he really should love a woman.

"Alistair!" Someone called out to him and he jumped when a very cool hand landed on his hot skin. He _knew_ that it was Hadrian who had called out to him, who had touched him with that relishing cool sensation. Then, he smelled something that didn't seem right to him. It smelled metallic and as he inhaled with his mouth, he could almost taste the copper in the air. It was blood and Alistair's eyes quickly raked over the older Warden's form. He didn't see anything though except his friend's armor that could use some repairing and his sheathed sword and shield. They were cleaned off the blood but perhaps the smell still lingered on them. It grew stronger when Hadrian stepped closer to him and felt his forehead with a cool hand.

"Damn, maybe that injury kit I gave you wasn't enough," Hadrian muttered underneath his breath. His muttering prompted the elder mage to step forth and Alistair grew even more flustered at all this attention. He didn't want the mage touching, just Hadrian.

"He is fine, Hadrian; perhaps he is just tired from this ordeal, like we all are." Wynne took her hand back and she glanced at the others, old eyes perusing their forms for any visible injuries that she had missed. Morrigan healed herself just fine, after a couple of vials of lyrium. Both Leliana and Sten were holding up as well, their faces a little reddish but it was out of walking the long flight of stairs right after a battle rather than from a bad injury.

"You are more than welcome to rest here," Knight-Commander Greagoir offered, "but with the mess the Tower is in now, I'm afraid I can only offer you this place to rest in."

Hadrian regarded the lobby with obvious distaste. To save room for the essentials, he had his party leave behind the bedrolls and pillows as well. The other Templars couldn't afford any spare bedrolls either, for they were reserved for the wounded and for the displaced mages as well. If they were to spend the night here, they would fall asleep on hard, unforgiving ground, with the threat of Templars and abominations hanging over the heads. Plus, the young Cousland couldn't risk losing Morrigan to any of these Templars, no matter his certain dislike for the topaz-eyed witch.

"That's ok," Hadrian politely refused Sir Greagoir's offer, "besides, we have two dwarves waiting for us and hopefully some food."

The Knight-Commander nodded then and he bade the group farewell, promising Hadrian that next time, they should catch up and that the extra forces he would need for the Archdemon would be provided without question.

-TBC-

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! Internet crashed on me and I had to have it fixed! I am a willing addict to the internet! Anyhoo, below are the review responses, which hopefully contain minor to no spoilers for the next chapter! Please leave a line or two, or three behind!**

The kid: I had already planned on having another full moon chappy after the tower. :D Let's just say things will get interesting. I'm very happy to know that you are enjoying the story and am glad for the gentle reminder to update. Please check my transformers fic if you are interested in reading another good story like this one. Thanks again!

David9999: Fergus has his own path to follow as do Arren and Anders. They will eventually get to Kirkwall and when they go, boy, do things really change from the original DA 2 story! I hope this chappy is just as good as the last one, though maybe not as epic.

Blue-Eyed Beast of Destiny: Thank you very much for the praise! I'm just happy that you left a review behind. :D I hope you got what you're looking for in terms of Hadrian/Alistair.

Madness of Angels: Since this chappy was fully devoted to the events in the Tower, I couldn't squeeze in Arren/Anders moments. Otherwise, this would be another ten pages long and even I don't have a long enough attention span to read through all that. I finally saw Transformers 3 today and yes, Prime is the man or rather, the Autobot!

YoshisSupport: So, is it still 'story information 3'? :D

Aelfric's Cat:  Yep, Amell and Cullen are a planned couple! Woo! Let's just Cullen really needs hands-on healing now! The Hawkes will hopefully be in the next chappie or so.

Gatorsnacks: I hope it's still getting better and better. Please keep reading and reviewing! I'm really loving all the attention!

Thank you all again for reading and to the aforementioned readers for reviewing! You all just make my day!


	32. Talk of Assassins

Chapter 32: Talk of Assassins

It seemed as if the Maker had it in for them. What could have been a day and night of rest turned out to be an entirely different matter. For the battle-weary Hadrian and his companions, the last thing they wanted to see was a damsel in distress.

They were halfway to their campsite, which was several feet away from the entrance to the Calenhad Docks, when a young female elf had come running to them. Her clothes were torn at the bottom, as if something had clawed at her feet during her escape and only managed to tear holes in skirt instead. Hadrian really hoped that she was going for a morning jog, although the chance for that to happen was extremely low. His already low hopes were dashed instantly when she caught sight of them and sprinted towards them, an anguished expression distorting what could have been a pretty face.

"Please, good ser! My friends! My friends are trapped underneath the wagon!" She panted several times, trying to get her breathing under control.

"Oh lovely," Morrigan complained, "now we have to rescue another helpless bunch of idiots. Can we just get one hour of rest? Just one hour?"

The others, usually short with Morrigan whenever she was in her mood, couldn't help but agree with her. Even Leliana was exhausted. Her hands almost trembled and she could feel her leather armor cracking in some places. In spite of her exhaustion though, she still held unto her longbow. Life had taught her well in being prepared for anything. You couldn't survive playing the Game by being so trusting of people and situations.

"It's ok, people," Hadrian said to them in a deceptively strong voice. Only Alistair knew that his voice shook but it was subtle, very subtle indeed. He walked ahead of them, with the girl walking in front of the departing nobleman.

"Hadrian! Where are you going?" Alistair called out to him.

"To help them. It doesn't take five people to lift a wagon." A shout was thrown over the departing man's shoulder. He still didn't falter in his steps as he followed the leading elf.

Alistair cursed to himself. He really wished that Hadrian hadn't left Regus at the camp with the dwarves now. At least Regus could pick up on the underlying tones of someone tricking them into a trap. He didn't know what to do though and, upon looking at his tired friends, it seemed as if they didn't know what to do either. Only Sten fared better than all of them. His posture had remained straight all this time, even after the Fade and the battle with Uldred. They didn't have stamina draughts with them and neither Wynne nor Morrigan were experienced enough in crafting new stamina droughts.

The mages were runners-up in terms of stamina, thanks to the lyrium vials that Hadrian had managed to stock from Lothering and pilfered from various dead bodies along the way to the Tower. The two ladies were a little bit of out of breath, but that was due to the group's brisk pace in heading back to the campsite, where hopefully hot food and a day's rest awaited them.

The least helpful person was the one currently holding unto him, the man's arm slung over his right shoulder. Cullen's eyes had fallen closed a while back and his added weight slowed the Grey Warden down considerably, forcing him to stay at the rear of the pack. What should he do? Take one mage, Leliana and himself to help their friend out? That would leave Sten and another mage behind with Cullen. He didn't like those odds. Cullen had been severely traumatized by Uldred and any mage left alone with him could be in serious danger. Wounded and mentally hurt, Cullen's first instinct upon seeing a lone mage would be to subdue them at best or, at worst, kill them. Seeing as how Hadrian expressed a personal interest in keeping Cullen safe and sane, Alistair did not want to risk earning his wrath by leaving Cullen alone with Morrigan. He should be fine with the older mage though, seeing as how he probably saw her on a weekly basis at the Tower.

A sudden explosion up ahead, where Hadrian had gone, jolted everybody awake, even poor Cullen. Wild eyes popped open and locked with his.

"Mages! They…they're everywhere!" His childhood friend moaned as he frantically tried to escape the Warden's hold on him.

"Stop moving!" Alistair may as well have been talking to a stoned wall, especially when his command only increased Cullen's frantic struggles. Sten moved next to him and all Alistair saw was a blur of a hand as it came down swiftly on the Templar's neck. The effect was instantaneous and Cullen fell against him, with Alistair having enough thought to catch the unconscious man around the torso.

"Sten! You killed him!" Alistair was horrified at what the Qunari had done. Sten just gave him a blank look and then snorted in derision at the Warden's exclamation.

"Check again, human. He still lives; he's just a little bit quieter now. I believe Kadan needs us. Come, let's join him and fight some immoral humans."

"It's not just humans that can be immoral," Alistair muttered underneath his breath. He gently laid the Templar on the ground and pilllowed Cullen's head with a spare blanket that Morrigan had managed to take with them before going into the Tower. Once he made sure that his wounded friend was comfortable, he turned to Wynne, who just nodded her head in answer to his unasked question.

"Morrigan, Sten, you're with me. Leliana, stay and protect Wynne and Cullen. Hopefully Hadrian didn't get himself killed."

Something had taken over Alistair, a surge of a strange type of confidence. He didn't know where it had come from. All he knew was that he had to go to Hadrian and protect him.

Morrigan actually laughed at Alistair's order but she then smiled, apparently pleased with the Warden. "Taking charge, are we, dear Alistair? Perhaps Hadrian should be absent more frequently."

"Shut up, Morrigan and follow me," Alistair growled at her, completely aware of how dangerous her eyes shone at him. The trio ran up ahead, hastening their footsteps at a shrill scream that had pierced the air.

Their path was blocked by a large tree that had felled, probably due to a fire bomb thrown by an enemy. Alistair cursed when there was no clear way around it. The broken end was fully lodged into the boulder it had once grown from while the other end was decorated with branches, too thick and too bunched in together to provide a safe passage.

"Maker's breath! How can we get through here?" Alistair let out a moan of frustration, more so when he heard swords clashing and someone moaning right afterwards. Was it Hadrian who had gotten injured? Was he even still alive?

The Witch huffed for a second and she tapped her staff once on the ground, the blue crystal glowing brightly even for daytime. Her eyes closed and she frowned in concentration as words flowed from her mouth and into the area, echoing around both Sten and Alistair. Alistair, who was close to the Witch, had no idea what she said. Whatever the incantation was, it had an immediate effect and the tree that once blocked their path suddenly turned into smoke, causing the warriors to cough violently and their eyes to tear up.

"Geez, Morrigan! Next time warn us when you're about to do that!" Alistair coughed again. However, the fight took priority over anything else, and Alistair quickly focused on the fight that was taking place in front of him.

"Would you rather have stayed here, pondering on how to get through to Hadrian while he's fighting out there, alone and without you?"

_How did she know about that?_

"Idiot; you're the only one who can control him. Without you, I would have been dead."

_Oh, that's what she meant._ "Even with me around, you would have been dead, Morrigan."

The witch gasped at Alistair's retort, surprised that this fumbling, stupidest member of the group could have a quick tongue. Then her eyes hardened and Alistair sensed that he had somehow gained a grudging respect from Morrigan. He used to care about that. To have people like him. In the past, if they liked him, then there was no punishment. Now, he didn't really care and his nonchalance almost confused him. What was going on with him? Had another Alistair taken over his body, while the fumbling, clumsy one was left behind in the Fade?

Another exclamation broke his thoughts and it gave him a cold shudder when he heard it. _Capture him? What for and why?_ His feet acted of their own accord as did his hands. He suddenly saw red when he saw people crowd around a silver-haired being, who was valiantly fighting back and avoiding capture all at the same time.

"Kill these immoral humans," an unrecognized voice commanded his two companions. Sten's lips subtly lifted upwards but that was the only indication of his approval. He shouted something in Qunari and charged forward, his two-handed Greatsword wielded in his broad hands. Alistair was already ahead of him though and Morrigan stayed where she was, out of the dangerous reach of the archers that were now firing at them.

"I can't believe I didn't want to go with them in the first place." She laughed almost in a maniacal way as she cast a paralysis spell on the archers before casting a crushing prison on a warrior that was creeping up behind Hadrian. Feeling the heat of battle call to her, she now understood why her mother loved to fight, to fight and kill those Templars who were hunting them down. The surge of power rolling through her slender frame was invigorating and she wanted to relish this addictive feeling for a long time. Once she got rid of those pesky archers, she now focused on supporting the two warriors that were currently fending off a duo of a rogue and a warrior. Her eyes narrowed when she observed the fluid movements of the rogue, whose daggers flashed brilliantly. He's lethal! Better get rid of him!

However, before she could do anything, she was suddenly stuck herself and the addictive feeling was soon replaced by that of frustration and then despair when she realized that she couldn't breathe. _A Crushing prison!_ She tried in vain to summon the magic into her hands but the decreasing supply of oxygen made her thoughts sluggish. Stars dotted her vision and just when she was about to curse her mother for forcing her to accompany the Grey Wardens, the spell abruptly disappeared, causing her to fall forward on her knees. For a second time, she gasped and heaved, trying to pull in as much air as possible. Someone must have either killed the mage responsible or distracted him enough to have to break off the spell.

As Morrigan was still recovering from her near death experience, Alistair and Sten were forced on the defensive side during their fight with both the warrior and the rogue. Alistair grimaced at the sight of those pointy ears but he successfully blocked the blows of the warrior while Sten literally skewered him in the chest. With the height difference, both Sten and Alistair managed to work together. Alistair's shortness allowed him to move quicker than his taller partner and to block the blows that would have been fatal to either one of them. Seeing that they were fighting back to back now, Alistair's shield covered their flanks while his sword thrust out at any attacker. With their movements in tandem, they successfully overcame their adversary only to discover that the rogue they were initially fighting with had moved on to Hadrian himself.

"Sten! Cover Morrigan!" Alistair shouted and he ran over to where the elf rogue was. Desperation drove him to run faster and his vision tunneled when he saw Hadrian stumble backwards, his chest and neck exposed to the elf's downward strike. _No! No!_

The Warden was so caught up in trying to reach the elf in time that he didn't notice an arrow whiz by him, the feathers touching against his cheek. It hit the elf in the right hand and there was a loud expletive said in a thick accent unfamiliar to Alistair. However, that wasn't his major concern now.

The distraction of the arrow allowed him more time to stop the other hand from coming down and he charged at the elf, who surprisingly did not try to roll away from him. Perhaps the close victory had dulled his senses and Alistair thanked the Maker for that and for whoever had sent that arrow.

His shield made a solid _thunk_ when connecting with the elf's head and the senior Warden was finally glad to see the elf fall limply to the ground, hands outstretched in front of him. The dagger was thrown out of his hand and landed a few feet away from the elf.

There were a few more screams behind him but Alistair wasn't worried about them. His eyes were fixed hotly on the dazed man lying on the ground and the faint smell of copper came in full force, making his nostrils flare at the scent. _Blood…_

Of course, there should be the smell of blood in the air. Ten archers lay dead where they were positioned on the ledge to the far left of the clearing. The bodies of the five warriors both Alistair and Sten had killed laid haphazardly over each other, having fallen on top of their comrades in their death throes. Yet, unlike the usual pungent, metallic smell of blood, this scent was sweet, almost like the sweets he used to eat after having pilfered them from Arl Eamon's pantry.

"Alistair? A hand please?" Hadrian was still on the ground, but the Cousland had managed to sit up, albeit not without struggle.

The longsword that was wet with blood was quickly swiped clean before then being sheathed in the scabbard attached to Alistair's back. He offered Hadrian his right hand and pulled the man up, catching him as Hadrian stumbled into him.

"Sorry," Hadrian muttered in a weak voice.

"It's no problem." Alistair replied and he reluctantly let go of Hadrian, who stood on his two feet now. Hadrian's face was unnaturally pale and his armor was even more broken than before. There was a large hole in the man's armor at the left side of the ribs, but with the blood smeared all over Hadrian, he couldn't tell if Hadrian was injured or not.

"Alistair! Hadrian! Are you two alright?" Leliana called out to them breathlessly. The bard had sprinted up to them, her longbow out and ready to be used again in her left hand. _So, she must have shot that __arrow!_ Alistair nodded happily at her, thankful that the trio he had left behind had taken initiative to follow them. If that hadn't happened…he shuddered at the alternative scenario, at the sight of Hadrian's throat slashed to ribbons by the elf's dagger. _No! Don't think of that! Don't!_

"Alistair? Are you hurt?" Hadrian asked him, his eyes traveling down his friend's body, checking for any injuries that he may have required from this strange fight. Other than the occasional blood streaks from an enemy, no wounds could be found on the taller Warden's body and Hadrian was very glad to see that. He was going to mentally hit himself if his foolishness had resulted in either a party member being severely injured or wind up dead. Of course, he didn't want to tell them that he was wounded, again.

A soft moan was uttered from the downed elf but he didn't move again.

"He's still alive," Alistair almost growled, his hand already reaching for his sheathed weapon. Hadrian stopped him with a gentle hand.

"Don't kill him! We need some questions answered, particularly why they only wanted to capture me and not kill me."

"What? He just tried to kill us!" Alistair became furious at Hadrian. However, whenever that strong jaw would clench stubbornly, he knew that he couldn't convince the man otherwise. He sighed and removed his hand from where it had held unto the hilt.

"You can tie him up and then interrogate him." Leliana suggested.

"I would kill the elf," Morrigan stated, surprisingly supporting Alistair in this one. "He did indeed try to kill us." Her staff was still glowing a bright blue, ready to strike at the elf.

"We're not killing him, people," Hadrian said in a firm tone. He did allow Leliana tie the man up though and he stirred towards the end of it, his eyes fluttering open.

"Oh, I have a huge headache. I should be dead, not experiencing this awful headache." The elf groaned. He attempted to bring a hand up to rub his eyes but discovered that his hands were bound behind his back. Normally, he would have found this kinky and particularly arousing, especially when a very handsome man was standing over him. Two sparkling blue eyes stared at him and they were disturbingly piercing, as if the Warden could see his thoughts and secrets. He was mildly surprised to see the same man he had been fighting against still standing. Then again, the poison-maker did say that this particular brand of soldier's bane had a unique way of wreaking havoc on the victim's body.

"Who sent you and why?" _Oh my, gets straight to the point, doesn't he?_ Zevran chuckled to himself, shaking his head ruefully.

"Well now, since I am tied up and have failed my mission, I am in under no obligation to _not_ tell you." The man's blue eyes became even sharper than before and the tip of the sword was now touching against his throat, barely scratching the surface.

"Alistair, put the sword away." There was a muttered grumble of sorts but the taller man standing right next to his captor did what he was told. Apparently, this shorter man here was the leader of this strange ragtag group. His captor then crouched in front of him, apparently unconcerned with the possibility of Zevran's attempt to get out of his bounds and attack Hadrian.

"I don't' like Assassins," the captors tone was deadly and Zevran could literally feel the man's heat radiate from his body. "Your men are dead and like you said before, you apparently failed your mission. Failed assassination attempts are unforgivable." In other words, Zevran thought, the Crow would probably kill him either way. He examined the man and his companions thoughtfully, analyzing their potential worth in protecting and killing him.

After spending a few quick seconds in inspecting his captors, Zevran finally relented to himself. _Ah well, I would much prefer to staying alive and be killed later by this beautiful specimen of a man than hide away from my own employees._

He began his story by way of introductions before relaying the details of his mission to the Wardens and their friends. At the end of it, the man had stood up, scowling at the news. Zevran did not like whenever a beautiful face scowls. The furrowed brows and the deep creases of the forehead all marred the wonderful aspects of that face, making it less beautiful and more average. However, this man's scowl hadn't marred his handsome features and Zevran already started to imagine him fighting with Hadrian and him winning. Hmm, that would be delicious, indeed.

Unfortunately for Zevran, who didn't know Alistair very well, the spiked scent of arousal did not escape Alistair's notice. While the Templar wasn't familiar with the smell of arousal, he certainly heard the heartbeat go up and saw the almost flushed features of the bound elf. The elf's face did not give any hint of desiring Hadrian, but Alistair could smell the elf's want for his friend and his hands balled into fists.

When Hadrian announced Zevran free and when Zevran, once untied and now facing the man with an intense expression on that dark-skinned face, swore an oath to do his services, Alistair became angry again.

"He just tried to kill us! And you want to take an Assassin with us? I thought you hate Assassins!"

The man just released an almost shaky exhale of breath and his hand wiped across his brow. "And who's better equipped in recognizing and dealing with other Crows that may be after us?"

Alistair wanted to rebut that statement and he imagined himself giving coherent explanations to Hadrian, listing off the reasons why they _shouldn't_ take the Antivan elf with them. In reality though, he didn't say anything. He just stared blankly at Hadrian.

"Look, we're all tired here," Hadrian announced in an weary tone. "Let's just find Bodahn and his son and then get some rest." He didn't tell his friends about his wounds. Being caught out on the path far longer than he wanted to made him anxious. However, despite his body almost shutting down on him, he couldn't give into the dark abyss that was seducing him. Not yet anyways.

-o0o-

They had just arrived in camp, all the party members weary from their exhaustive trip to the Circle and fighting a Crow assassin. Fortunately, the two dwarves who were left behind at the camp had already prepared dinner and their tents. Bodahn cooked lamb chops, the finest ones thanks to some bribery money, with their homemade sauce, a supposed family secret until Sandal told Wynn how to make it. Hadrian walked rather briskly into his tent, not wanting anyone to accost him and question on his pale features. He carefully peeled off his armour and scowled at the blood bleeding through his undergarments. The battles with Uldred and Zevran did not end without injuries, but the young Grey Warden insisted on treating others first. He gave his last injury kit to Alistair, who was in worse shape than he, and Wynn did not have enough mana to heal everyone. Even so, the Grey Warden was pleased with his decision but his body clearly wasn't. He barely managed to stifle a moan as he placed a fresh roll of gauze on there. He carefully dressed himself again, not wanting to aggravate the wound any worse and was just about to walk out of the tent when a shadow appeared outside of it and a familiar voice called out to him.

"Hadrian! Food's ready!"

A smile appeared on the man's face and his hand pulled over the flap, revealing the grinning face of Bodahn, who was holding a bowl of venison stew in cloth-covered hands.

"Thanks, Bodahn. Please place it by the bench."

The bench was nothing more than a piece of wood sawed from a felled tree. It was actually thanks to Morrigan that they had this for she had taken the time in working the wood, until it was as smooth as a baby's bottom. She did it right before they left for Calenhad Docks and Hadrian felt guilty again for having almost killed her. Thank the Maker they had a good talk in the Fade. After finding her trapped in her dream with Flemeth, she thanked him in a genuine way, her voice lacking her usual bitterness. When he apologized to her, she just brushed it off, saying that she liked a man who had the guts to do that to a mage. _Apology is a sign of weakness, Hadrian. Never apologize for what you think is right._ Her response made him reanalyze the Witch, putting her in a better light than before.

"Hadrian? We need to talk." Someone said to him, as if from far away, and he slowly lifted his head, to regard the tall blonde. _Maker's breath…not now! _ His wounds flared at the wrong time and he barely stifled a moan.

"Thanks for saving me back there," Hadrian managed to say to his friend, hoping to deflect any questions regarding that scene in the Fade. He promised Alistair that they would talk, but did it have to be now, when all he wanted to do was just curl in his bed and pass out?

He noticed that it was getting extremely cold out here, despite the fire crackling right next to him. Also, the fire seemed to be getting louder and louder, with Alistair's voice sounding as if the older Warden was miles way instead of being a few inches in front of him. A question was asked of him and he looked up, only to find his field of vision narrowing to Alistair's concerned face. His last thought before slipping into the waiting darkness was w_hy is he looking at me like that?_

-o0o-

"Hadrian? Are you- Hadrian!" Alistair stopped in mid-sentence when he saw his friend's eyes roll up and he stepped forward to catch the man in his arms. At his shout, the other members of the party immediately looked up from whatever they were doing and the mood shifted from sheer exhaustion to energy and concern for their unclaimed leader.

Wynn rushed from her tent to kneel at Hadrian's side, opposite of Alistair. She placed a hand on her friend's forehead and silently cursed at the unusual warmth emanating from it. Leliana was at her left, already having brought a pail of hot water and a soft cloth.

"What happened? Is he alright?" The Bard handed the Healer a cloth, which was placed on the fallen leader's head. The coolness of the cloth elicited a soft moan from her patient. Wynne shushed her patient and she looked to Sten, who was standing rather curiously over the group.

"What caused this? He was fine when he walked away from me and to his tent."

"We'll find out, Sten. But for now, please help us instead of asking questions."

If Sten had any protests with a woman, in fact, a female mage, giving him orders, he did not give any. Instead, he had Alistair lay the unconscious noble's head in his lap while draping his torso on the grass, to give him better access to the man's body. Sten gently unclasped the hooks that connected the two sides of the breastplate and everyone gasped at the infected wound in his flank.

"By the Maker, what is this?"

Leliana's lips pursed together in a thoughtful manner and her eyes glared at the person standing next to her. Before anyone could react, she grabbed the elf's wrists and tied them above his head. Zevran was not taken by surprise, however, and he neatly countered the move with a swift kick to her calves. He, unfortunately, did not know the redhead very well and her friends either. As soon as everyone saw Leliana give the newcomer a deadly glare, they reacted very strongly. _Such a loyal group, this is, to one single man!_ Zevran did not have the opportunity to strike the Bard unconscious for Morrigan had cast a paralysis spell.

"Keep him there, Morrigan," Alistair commanded, easily fitting in the role of his friend. "I knew we shouldn't have kept this elf!"

"What did you do to him?" Leliana asked the Antivan Crow in a venomous tone. Her blue eyes, once softened in mercy for this elf, were now hardened into icy jewels. Her dagger was dangerously close to his throat and Zevran knew that with just one word from any of her friends, it could easily end him. Thus, he conceded defeat and raised his hands in surrender.

"My, my. Such loyalty for this man!"

Morrigan concentrated and the spell prison tightened around him, making it difficult for the elf to breathe.

"Alright! Alright! Before he showed mercy, I used a poisoned dagger on him. It doesn't start on the body until he sits down. This, however, is an unprecedented reaction."

"What is the poison?" The woman hissed at him. "Tell us! Or, by the maker, I will make you wish you were dead back there."

"If you must know, dear Leliana. I used soldier's bane on him."

Gasps could be heard around him and the Assassin had the feeling that this was not going to turn well for him unless his savior wakes up and saves him, _again_.

"Damn it! We don't have the ingredients for that!" Alistair had shouted.

"Actually," Wynne started, her hands placed on the noble's chest that was feebly rising up and down. "I have a few ingredients. All we need is the blood lotus."

"But that is a rare flower and is only seen in winter. We are in the early spring months." Leliana pointed out, her disappointment clear in her sad tone. Zevran noticed her hand trembling and tried to move away from her dagger. It was a poor attempt and he only succeeded in her bringing the dagger even closer to him.

"I know," Wynne commented. Her brows knitted together in fierce concentration and suddenly, an idea came into mind. "The circle of Magi keeps several rare items, in case of emergencies such as these. I am quite sure that we can get one there. However, the circle of Magi is at least a few days away, and that's on horseback."

"Just so you know, I do have the antidote." Zevran said. A wry smile appeared on his face and, with the shadows of the fire, gave him a very dark appearance. Morrigan, were it any other time than this, would have found that very attractive. Unfortunately, having the Warden dead from a dishonoured elf's action would severely ruin her plans and she was finding this elf taxing her already thinned patience.

"Tis better to let the elf give us the antidote. He has nothing to lose now, except his life."

"No, Morrigan," Alistair protested quite eagerly, "he has already shown himself to be dangerous and not trustworthy. He could have easily told us that he injured Hadrian. Instead, he kept silent and let us see for ourselves what the poison could do. No, we should just kill him and be done with it."

"I would have to agree with Alistair," Sten's voice rumbled softly, his hands still taking off the armor pieces. The Qunari shook his head at the chest that was riddled with bruises and lacerations. What bothered him more was the wound in his friend's flank.

"No…my fault…" an even softer voice cried out, almost deafened in his friends' arguments concerning the fate of the Assassin. "Leave…him…be."

_Again, my lovely ass gets saved by this handsome warrior_. Zevran struggled against the invisible bonds of Morrigan's spell but to no avail.

"Hadrian, you're hurt. Just keep quiet for a change." Alistair's tone brooked no argument but Hadrian insisted on getting up. Hadrian's body protested violently and his stomach moved uneasily, giving the man a very queasy feeling. Without warning, he shoved Sten to the side with abnormal strength and vomited in the spot the Qunari warrior was previously sitting in. He should have been embarrassed at expelling his breakfast and lunch contents in front of his friends but he was too tired to care, too sick to even say something to them. After several agonizing moments of vomiting followed by dry heaving, a pair of hands gently coaxed him in lying back down and a cool rag was placed across his forehead. He heard his companions arguing in the background and he wanted to say something, to avoid another life being discarded so carelessly, a life that he personally saved. Alistair's voice reverberated throughout his whole being and for an inexplicable reason it relaxed him, causing him to rush headlong into oblivion.

The templar held his friend gently, waiting for the eyes to close shut after that harrowing experience of being wounded, stabbed, and then poisoned by a shifty, pointy-eared person whose name he did not wish to remember. He saw that Hadrian was trying to say something before losing consciousness and felt that the man truly wanted them to spare Zevran. _In my years at the Cousland Castle, I was taught to keep my friends close, but my enemies closer. _Those words swirled in his mind and he figured that Hadrian was right in keeping an Assassin with them. One, they would definitely know his location and should he ever attempt to take the Wardens' lives, the other companions would act on it. Two, the Assassin was an Antivan Crow and could be helpful in identifying any possible assassination attempts by other Crows. Thinking out the pros and cons, as well as considering what his friend would do in his place, Alistair let out a deep sigh and looked at the Dalish Elf, who was still in Morrigan's paralysis spell. Leliana looked ready to kill him then and there. Thus, he had better say something before the Bard's hand slips.

"Leliana, Morrigan, let Zevran go."

Several expletives, most including the Maker's name and Andraste, were shouted at him, but the Templar merely shrugged them off.

"I'm not going to repeat myself. Hadrian saved this _elf_ and there is a good reason why,"

If anyone was surprised by Alistair's sharp tone, none showed it on their faces, except maybe for Morrigan. An unsettling expression was shown on her face and those golden eyes glanced at him in a piercing way, as if she was trying to find out what caused this sudden behavior in the 'stupidest member of the group.' Whatever she had found, it must have been satisfactory enough for her to release the spell and have her muttering to herself while walking back to her own camp.

The Dalish elf coughed and rubbed his throat with his hands. _Never going to piss off her again. The Witch will enjoy torturing me more than that redhead_! He was just about to stand up when sharp pain lanced his head and the world tilted upside down. He fell back to the ground rather awkwardly and found Leliana standing over him, her fist ready to punch him again.

"That was for Hadrian, you slimy Antivan," she spat vehemently at him before striding to where Alistair, Sten, and Wynne were sitting. The Dalish elf couldn't believe that the redhead had the guts do to that to an Antivan Crow. Then again, he rather liked feisty women and Orlesian women were said to be the most dangerous of them all, even when compared to Antivan women. He got up, nonchalantly brushing off any wayward grass that found its way into his fine, leather armor. Then he gave Wynne the antidote vial before stalking off into his own tent, his departure carefully watched by everyone at camp.

Finally relieved at the elf's absence, the others immediately set to work on tending to Hadrian. Wynne had Alistair open the nobleman's mouth and the precious contents were poured down the man's throat. At first, Hadrian had trouble swallowing and his throat had to be massaged by Alistair to allow for the antidote to make its way into his stomach. Once the antidote was taken, Wynne placed her hands on Hadrian's chest and focused her will on healing her friend's wounds. The two warriors marveled at how easily the flesh knitted itself together and the angry infection started to disappear. In a few moments, where the side was reddened with infection, there was now only unblemished skin, fair in tone.

"It is done," Wynne's voice was slightly strained when she said this and Alistair saw her taking another lyrium potion from her pouch. She drank it down and her complexion darkened a bit. "Alistair, can you carry him to his tent? Sten-"

"No, I will carry _Kadan_. Alistair is more proficient in cleaning human armor and weapons."

While this statement was true indeed, the Templar's temper increased and his face reddened at the Qunari's blunt disobedience. However, before he could say something, the tall warrior was already picking up the limp form of their leader and started to head towards the nobleman's tent, pitched towards the near road to serve as a watcher. Wynne couldn't help but smile when she noticed that Alistair truly wanted to make some comment at being easily cast aside by their strange Qunari.

"Don't worry, Alistair. Sten won't do anything undesirable to your friend."

Her smile increased at the sight of a flush creeping unto the Templar's cheeks, giving him an adorable appearance.

"Well…it's…not like that…ummm…yeah, I'm just going to clean Hadrian's stuff."

Muttering to himself, he gathered his friend's belongings and went to his own tent. The older mage sighed heavily and followed Sten, taking notice of the dark patch on the ground where Hadrian was lying before. _So much blood…_

-TBC-

DZD3: I'm getting excited too and I'm the one writing it!

YoshisSupport: Sorry if this chapter is not the 'talk' of sorts. I wanted to have Zevran make his appearance before they start.

Aelfirc's Cat: I love cheese too! Brie is my fav btw.

David9999: I hope you like how this chapter focuses more on Hadrian's group than him. I'm trying to make them appear real to the reader. Seeing that no one has really mentioned this, I'm not sure if I have succeeded in this or not.

THE KID: How's that for capitalization? :D And yes, you are awesome!

Yes, I've yet to find a story that involves Cullen tagging along with the group. Then again, that move is not exactly canon...oh well!

Zevran has made an appearance and it looks like Alistair may have to fight off a potential suitor. Also, the next chapter is the 'talk of all sorts' so please look forward to it. I hope everybody else does too!

Gatorsnacks: Thanks! I like it when I leave a review for a story and the author talks back to me. Not many writers on ff dot net dot this though. Shame.

A/N: Review if you want hot wolf on wolf action, metaphorically speaking of course! (Quote of THE KID)


	33. Beginnings

**A/N: This may look familiar and it is due to the fact that is a repost of the same chapter. There are enough changes here to warrant a reread, so please do and enjoy the new update. Huge hugs and kisses to my new BETA reader, AElfric's Cat. If anyone else is interested in beta reading, feel free to pm me.  
**

Chapter 33: Beginnings

Hadrian told Alistair to take him far away from the camp should anything happen to him on the eve of the full moon. It would have been easier said than done were it not for their newest addition, Zevran, who was currently being watched by a very angry Mabari hound and the tall, impassive Qunari. Alistair expected the hound to keep a very close eye on the Antivan elf, but Sten really took him by surprise, his initial coarseness rubbed the Wardens the wrong way, with his terse, almost apathetic responses to his questions. Now, something had changed though and he wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened in the Fade.

Now _there_ was something to talk about. Unfortunately, with Hadrian in his current, delirious state, the talk may have to wait. However, with Hadrian's warning swirling in his head, he knew that he _had_ to take him away. The sensation was nagging him on, forbidding him to try to excuse it on the circumstance they were in. He couldn't just take Hadrian away, not without raising some questions. Perhaps the best way to do this was to be direct and blunt.

He approached Leliana, who was sharpening her blades with a whetstone. The force of the blade coming into contact with whetstone suggested that she was still pissed off at the elf and Alistair knew he had to step carefully. The last thing he wanted was to be accidentally stabbed.

"Leliana," Alistair said calmly. The sounds stopped and she looked up, to regard him with cool eyes before they softened.

"Oh, Alistair! How is Hadrian now?" The Orlesian bard gently placed her sharpening tools to the side and she stood up to level her eyes with his.

"He's still sick. I think," Alistair paused for a second. Should he tell her of what he's about to do? Hadrian hadn't said to _not_ tell anyone, but his tone had insinuated that it wasn't common knowledge for him to be away on certain nights.

"Alistair? Is something wrong? Did he make another attempt again?" Leliana's eyes narrowed and they glinted dangerously. They reminded Alistair that this was not a woman easily cowled by threats and blades. Although she didn't say his name, the elf pined his sharp eyes on them, somehow knowing that they were talking specifically about him. Alistair was startled to see those piercing eyes turn mocking instead and he felt disgusted at the way they trailed up and down his body, the mocking laughter giving way to a blatant and unwanted leeriness.

"I need to take Hadrian somewhere," Alistair tore his eyes away from those of the elf to focus on the bard he was talking to.

Her brows furrowed in concern and confusion. "Is he ok? Perhaps we can do away with the elf..." A slender hand was now clutching one of the daggers she was sharpening and Alistair's eyes blinked. _Had she always had that dagger in her hand? Maker's breath! I'm surrounded by dangerous people!_

"While I would have loved to kill the pointy-eared myself, Hadrian spared him." Alistair's tone was harsher than he had intended. "However, if Hadrian dies, so does he." Alistair had unknowingly growled and Leliana's eyes hardened for a second. A wry smile graced her features and her head nodded in understanding. Alistair could now see the respect held in those green eyes of hers and it boosted his confidence up even more. "Just keep an eye on things, here please? I still don't trust him, even if Hadrian spared his life."

"I'll keep four eyes on him," Leliana said in a soft but deadly voice. Regus' head popped up at the pair but then plopped back down on its front paws. However, the Mabari's black eyes were riveted to the elf, who hummed to himself as he attempted to get acquainted with the campsite. Another thing seemed to have caught the assassin's eye and Alistair's lips tugged at the corners, his grimace converting to a smile of bemusement as he watched the elf make his way towards the lonely Morrigan. The Witch could probably use some other form of entertainment besides him and Alistair found it tiresome of being made fun of by the topaz-eyed witch.

He was too far away from the pair to overhear their conversation but after several moments of talking, the elf had eventually gone away, still humming as he walked towards Wynne. While the senior Grey Warden really would have loved to stay behind to see how the older mage would handle herself, Hadrian was his primary concern. However, he felt increasingly hot, as if he was wearing a thick layer of fur.

"She's shining brightly tonight," Leliana murmured to him and Alistair's brown eyes turned to where she was looking at. Almost instantly, his right hand burned and he grabbed at it, hissing at the sensation of what felt like fire licking at his palm and forearm.

Leliana immediately put aside her knife and she watched with horrified eyes at Alistair's palm, the shape of a six-pointed star revealing itself in a bloody mess.

"Alistair? Your hand..." She twisted the hand further upward and was just about to dab the wound with a clean cloth that she had on when the blonde Warden jerked his hand away from her. "Alistair?"

"We're leaving," Alistair managed to stay without groaning in pain. Leliana didn't say a word at the abrupt departure of the blonde warrior but watched with curious eyes at the diminishing back of Alistair. Several minutes later, she could see the silhouettes of the Grey Wardens, the taller one carrying the smaller, injured partner to the small wooded area in front of the campsite. _Take care of him, Alistair_. She knew in her heart that Hadrian would be safe with Alistair and that they probably won't be back till the next day.

-o0o-

The burning ache in Alistair's body refused to go away. He would have stopped and taken the time to care for it were it not for the person in his arms, with his right hand currently hooked around the man's cool thighs and his left supporting the back.

Hadrian was sicker than even Wynne had anticipated. Half of a candlelight after the older Warden's collapse, she had asked him on what he intended to do if Hadrian did pass into the Fade that night. He told her that perhaps all Hadrian needed was some fresh air.

Right now, he was walking away from the campsite and heading deeper into the wooded area of the Hinterlands. The party had camped not too far away from where the two rivers met at a confluence point and Alistair found himself currently wading through the shallow end of the fjord, trying his best to keep Hadrian out of the freezing waters.

Once he crossed the fjord, howls echoed throughout the woods on the south side of their campsite. He stopped for a minute then, his head jerking up to listen attentively to those strange, almost mournful howls. The howls grew louder and closer, causing Alistair to clutch tightly at his burden. What should he do? Just lay Hadrian on the ground and hope to the Maker that it's not a pack of wolves or even bears sniffing for dinner. It wasn't entirely unheard of to hear wolves attack humans for prey.

In front of the warrior, a wall of bushes and thick, evergreen trees loomed out of the undergrwoth. It was the start of the winter months now and Hinterlands bears, while famous for their ferocity towards humans, were equally famous for following closely with their hibernation cycles. However, bears weren't the only predators in the woods and Alistair began to worry that perhaps whatever was howling in the woods would be very hungry, hungry enough to eat two full-grown men.

He wouldn't be able to fully defend Hadrian if his arms were occupied and he gently laid Hadrian against one of the evergreen trees, all too aware of shadows darting in the wild brush, even in the growing darkness of twilight. Goosebumps traveled along his limbs at the sight of white shapes darting around him in his peripheral vision. He could hear something crashing from a distant, like a large wave pounding into the cliffs. The roar increased in tempo until it finally tapered away and Alistair grimaced as he stood over Hadrian's supine form in a protective stance. The fear of the unknown that had started to dig its claws in his heart gave way to an instinctive need to protect his friend. Even in his protective mode though, he was so startled to see a large shape loom out of the barriers in front of him that he almost dropped his drawn sword and his shield lowered just fractionally.

The large shape, he saw, was that of a white wolf. _No, silver_ Alistair corrected himself. _Or maybe it was both? Could that be possible? Apparently, ghosts are possible now_.

"Alistair Theirin," the wolf growled. The Warden made another jump, shocked to hear the wolf say his full name. One, he wasn't expecting a ghostly wolf to appear out of nowhere and two, he had _never_ told anyone of his unwanted heritage. Not even Hadrian.

"Our Cousland brother, why is he near him like that? He has no right." Something snarled angrily at the Warden. Another wolf had appeared at the white wolf's side and then another and another, until Alistair found himself encircled by smaller versions of the wolf, all differently coloured though. The one that snarled at him had a dark-brown coat, but even in this darkness, Alistair could still see right through him. _What's going on? Have I gone mad with the Taint already?_

"Has he hurt him, Alpha?" A black wolf cried out in concern, its jaws snapping dangerously to Alistair's thigh.

"Kill him, We should kill those who has violated our Cousland." the same brown wolf snarled again and his body coiled, as if ready to jump and attack the confused man. Just as he was about to spring up at Alistair, a large paw pinned him to the ground and the brown wolf whimpered pitifully as it pressed even harder against its torso. Were it to continue, the ribs would have broken and the organs would have been crushed.

"Stand down, Beta. In your haste for revenge, an innocent would have suffered. Also, this mortal here is the only one who can share our Cousland's burden."

"Y-y-yes," the wolf yipped out and the head nodded fervently, desperately trying to ease the wolf's anger so it would take its paw off him.

Alistair stared at the odd scene of the wolves, the smaller one completely dwarfed by that immense paw holding him down. Duncan's voice then murmured gently to him, from a distant memory. _Humans are almost like wolves. There is always an Alpha and a Beta to lead a pack, just like there is a King and Queen to lead the people. The Alpha serves the people through action while the Beta supports him. The Alpha is always a male but the Beta is not necessarily always a female. Even so, everyone submits to the Alpha as it should be. _As if to support his mentor's words, the wolf titled as 'Beta' went completely limp underneath the paw, hoping to reassure his Alpha of his obedience.

The larger silver wolf, satisfied that the smaller one knew his place, gently lifted its paw. The brown wolf showed its submission by tucking its ears low and its leg lifted up, to expose the vulnerable belly to the growling wolf. It earned a soft bite on the ears and gave a soft whine when the silver wolf briefly licked the minor hurt. All in all, it was all very weird to take in by Alistair.

Just when Alistair had even started to even think of getting away from these strange creatures, the large head twisted suddenly. A pair of luminous blue eyes gazed back at him steadily, almost knowingly. Alistair fidgeted uncomfortably underneath that piercing stare and he couldn't stop his body from trembling in fear when the head ducked down.

Despite the fact that seeing those intimidating rows of serrated fangs made him tremble, he was equally determined to protect Hadrian if necessary. He gripped the sword tightly in his hand and went into a defensive posture, with his shield positioned close to his body. He had no idea of the wolves' intentions, except maybe to eat their newfound prey. However, he would make them regret it if they ever touched his helpless friend, his _mate._ _Wait, where had that come from?_

It seemed like forever before the large wolf finally drew its eyes away from Alistair and towards Hadrian, who was currently shivering and shifting uncomfortably against the tree.

"He is cold, Alistair. His sickness will be made the worse because of this. However, he is made of stronger stuff than this."

"You know him?" Alistair gaped like a fish, shocked at how familiarly the wolf was talking about Hadrian, as if the wolf and Hadrian were the best of buddies, which they may very well could be.

"I have known him and his family for many generations. But that is another tale to tell, one I'm sure Hadrian would prefer to regale to you himself. Come now; there is a special place we will show you."

The wolf raised its haunches and Alistair almost stepped back when he fully realized how immense this creature was, how much of a danger he could really be to Hadrian. Standing at well over seven feet, the wolf easily cleared over the tops of trees. It was quite eerie to see the wolves pass _into_ the trees and even more eerie to have the trees rustle, as they merely brushed by them.

"Come, human," the black wolf snapped at him but he didn't dare go near the puzzled Warden, more out of fear for what his Alpha could do to him than the Warden himself.

Alistair watched the departing backs of wolves and he was again unsure of what to do now. Should he give into these fancies of his and follow them? Or maybe go back to the campsite and let Hadrian recover on his own?

A soft moan could be heard amongst the rustles of leaves and it prompted Alistair to kneel next to his charge.

Hadrian's face was contorted with pain and the Cousland buried his head even closer to Alistair's chest, as if seeking the warmth the younger Warden provided. Hadrian shivered violently and his body hunched in. Alistair brought him even closer now and smiled gently at a breathless sigh. _He looks so...so vulnerable_.

"You will not be able to find your own way here, Alistair Theirin. Do not make us wait for you." The Alpha said, his voice carried on by a cool breeze. Even Alistair shivered and he headed in the same direction as the wolves, hoping that he would have his questions answered.

The wolves had led him to an open area, a wide clearing void of trees and the cold, despite the snow being there. However, Alistair was astonished to not feel the awful cold of snow seeping through his deerskin boots. It was rather warm, a nice contrast to what he was used to. Fereldan winters were unusually harsh for a country that was sandwiched between the cool Kacori Wilds and the hot Free Marches.

"Where? Where are we?" He was sure he looked pretty stupid to the wolves; his dumbfounded eyes taking in his new surroundings with innocent awe and reverence. The sky was still dark and devoid of clouds, giving the bright silver orb in the sky full reign. His hand no longer burned painfully. In contrast, it became almost a soothing ache, a reminder of that dream with the little boy and his implications about Hadrian.

"You are still in Ferelden, in the southern side of the Hinterlands. However, with us here, no one can trespass with impunity. Hadrian needs you, especially this night."

"Why? Why this night?"

Zarieth's gaze lingered on his face far too long for his own comfort but eventually, the wolf turned away, a dismal expression crossing his face. It was strange to see so many emotions on a wolf's face, a face whose mouth could swallow him whole without trouble.

"It would have been his mother's birthday today," Zarieth then threw his head back and released a devastating howl, one that jarred the Warden's bones. His mournful wail was soon followed by other howls and Alistair watched with amazement as the wolves howled at the silver moon. _They're crying for her...but why?_

The sad howls still lingered on, despite the wolves having disappeared into the background, leaving Alistair all alone and uncertain of what he was supposed to do. Hadrian began to moan in earnest now and thrashed in his arms. Incoherent mumbles began to stream out of the unconscious man's mouth, causing Alistair's brows to knit in worry.

"...mother...no...please..."

_Mother? Why is he calling for her? _

"...no...dead...they're...all dead...fire..." The blonde heard another strained moan, which was followed by a choked sob. The sound tore Alistair up in the inside and he wrapped the older man in his arms, rocking him slowly and murmuring comfortingly to him.

"I'm here, Hadrian," he whispered softly to the writhing man, his hand coming up to cup his cheek and stroke it in long, slow movements. "There's no fire. I'm here..."

"Alistair...don't..." Alistair, stunned to hear this strong-willed man cry out to him in his sleep, stopped thumbing his cheek. _He called out my name...but why?_

While he hoped that his efforts would help soothe the pain of his friend's nightmares, he didn't want to add any discomfort to the man by making unwanted moves. However, when he withdrew his hand, he found that he couldn't for it was held tightly by the other man.

"...don't..." Hadrian moaned, his eyes scrunched tightly as if in pain. "Alistair...don't leave...don't leave me..."

_Leave? He thinks I'll leave him?_ "No, I won't leave you," Alistair murmured, cupping his cheek tenderly. He let out a soft gasp at Hadrian turning into the palm and instantly relaxing at the sound of his voice.

A few moments had passed before Hadrian fully settled down, his face almost wanting to bury itself in the soft furs. The blonde Warden held him up while he checked to make sure the ground wasn't too cold for him. Pleased to feel the same warmth that had seeped into his feet earlier, he slowly eased Hadrian down and carefully straightened out his limbs.

His friend was out of his armor already due to Wynne saying that all that heavy armor was not good for someone experiencing a fever. /_Too much heat can overwhelm the body, especially for one in a dangerous fever like Hadrian. Keep him cool and dry if you can._/

_**Wolves heal their wounds by licking them. We are not so different.**_

It was a whisper of a voice, his own in fact. However, it was deeper, more baritone.

_**Poison runs through him like a sharp knife through butter. Swift and merciless. You must reopen the old wound and suck the poison out**_

Alistair's stomach protested violently at the thought of having to cut open Hadrian. It felt like he was cutting into something precious, sacred, even if it was marred already by an Assassin's blade. A growl could be heard and Alistair was startled to know that it had come from him.

Alistair's hands gently extricated the two pieces of clothing and he blushed furiously at the sight of the man's groin, whose treasure was hidden away beneath a small, white loincloth that just barely covered the flaccid member, impressive in its dormant state, and sacs.

A single shaft of moonlight shone down on Hadrian. The smaller man whined pitifully, shifting restlessly, only to let out another set of pained moans and gasps. The sounds of Hadrian's suffering wrung his friend's heart and he hastily undressed himself, noticing that despite the clear night sky and the slight chill in the area, he was in fact still warm.

The blonde leaned over his friend and he couldn't help but inhale that intoxicating scent, of something woodsy and masculine. He nuzzled the man's throat gently and was inwardly pleased with himself that the head shifted to the side, giving him easy access. For some reason, he wanted to bite at the succulent throat, to leave his mark on Hadrian. To ward off any potential suitors like that damned knife-eared Zevran...The image of Zevran hugging, kissing the man underneath him increased his ire at the elf and he unknowingly bit into Hadrian's neck, causing Hadrian to emit a soft cry. Blood spurted into his mouth, the rich essence coating his mouth and tasting so sweet to him. Alistair was too far gone in his stupor to notice that he had bitten his friend. He pulled back, tsking at the sight of two torn holes. His tongue lathered the wounded area, relishing at the bloodless holes now, which began to scar almost immediately.

He kissed his way down the man's chest, feeling the burgeoning erection nudging his thigh. Even unconscious, Hadrian was getting aroused and if it was up to Alistair's inner wolf, he wanted him to stay that way.

The sight of an area of blemished skin mid-torso reminded him of his dusty and he lifted a hand, never realizing that his short stubby fingernails had somehow elongated into sharp claws. He quickly sliced along the scar, both marveling at how quickly blood spurted out and disgusted that he was the cause of Hadrian's body becoming taut from agony instead of passion. The claw didn't cut the skin too deeply, however, and Alistair ducked his head, only to lap at the wound. His saliva dripped from his mouth and tongue and seeped into the cut he had made.

It took a while but eventually Alistair _felt_ the sickness going away. Hadrian's body was no longer hot like a blacksmith's furnace. It released a burst of heat at one point and Hadrian's eyes snapped open briefly before finally fluttering closed, his body relaxing even further into his blankets, soaking in the much needed warmth of Alistair. His pants and breathless gasps soon evened into the soft, steady exhales of breathing.

-o0o-

Hadrian felt warm and protected. It was such an odd but welcoming sensation to have someone curl around him, an arm wrapped around his stomach.

"Hadrian, you're awake." He heard someone shifting behind him and Hadrian gently rolled on his back, only to see Alistair stare at him.

"Alistair..." he whispered out his friend's name as Alistair leaned over him, his warm breath fanning across his cheeks. Dry lips locked with his so softly, so gently that Hadrian thought for a second that maybe he was kissing air. However, a strong hand cupped his cheek and traveled back to wrap around his neck, bringing them closer and therefore deepening the kiss.

It seemed like the kiss lasted forever before Alistair drew back, an intangible emotion swimming in his soft brown eyes.

"Why?" Hadrian asked. He was thoroughly confused, not by Alistair's action, but how _he_ reacted to such a simple gesture of what? Affection? Love?

"I'm tired of not telling you," Alistair's thumb rubbed his left cheek. "that...that living without you would be more painful than anything I've ever experienced."

Hadrian's eyes widened at the confession that came out of his fellow Warden's mouth.

"Alistair...you...you don't know what you're talking about," Hadrian shook his head,instantly regretting the move, as the world shifted around in a nauseating sensation. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sky swirl in dizzying patterns. He didn't see his friend move to fully straddle him, their chests aligning with each other. Hands caressed his flanks in a soothing manner and a voice echoed from above his head.

"Breathe," Alistair said to him with all the authority of an Alpha, his voice deeper and those soft brown eyes darkened. "Breathe me in, Hadrian."

Hadrian followed his command and his body reacted to his intended. He felt a flush come over him and his body felt warmer than usual. His inner wolf howled for their joining, despite his rational mind saying otherwise, that this was too soon or Alistair would leave him. Hot, warm breath caressed his throat and he unwittingly let out a moan when he realized that the man was smelling him, scenting him in the way a lover would. He instinctively turned his head to the side, giving his Warden more access to him. Alistair's nose brushed against the the side of his nape and Hadrian shivered when unbelievably soft lips attached themselves to him. As kisses were lavished on his throat, something sharp would press gingerly against his skin and his body started slightly when he realized it was a pair of fangs.

The dizziness stopped and he could once again feel the rough blanket below him, the strong body pressing against his own. Something rubbed incessantly into his thigh and Hadrian knew without a doubt that Alistair was just as aroused as he was, if not more. He gasped as lips landed on his again.

"You better now?" Alistair's voice tickled his ear and he nodded, only to let out a moan as he felt Alistair's hips ground into his.

"Alistair...wait..." Hips ground into his again. "I..." Whatever Hadrian wanted to say was lost in supplicant moans as Alistair kissed him again, passionately and a little bit more roughly as well.

He clutched desperately at his lover, his arms wrapping around Alistair's chest. Alistair drew back, only to nibble on his jawline before nipping and licking his throat. His body thrummed with arousal and he couldn't stop himself from letting out low, almost guttural groans as he thrust against the templar who was perched above him.

"Alistair! Ngghhnn!"

"I've never been with a man before," Alistair said huskily; his hands kneaded the pectoral muscles before pinching the male nipples. "But, if I make you feel good, I guess it won't matter..."

"Gnnhh! Aaahhh!" _Never been with a man before? By the Maker, the way he's touching me, you would think that I wasn't the first one. _

"Those sounds," Alistair whispered to him, his voice still deep and his eyes lustful but loving all at the same time. "Let me hear them." Hadrian had his mouth closed but a slender finger rimmed his lips, asking for permission to enter that warm, moist cavern. A nipple was taken into a warm mouth before being laved and bit. Hadrian let out a garbled whimper as its twin was given the same treatment, allowing that slender appendage to slip in and play with his tongue. A second finger joined in, allowing strangled moans to escape him.

If Hadrian cared, he would have been highly embarrassed at the whimpers escaping him but he felt so good right now that nothing else really mattered. Not when strong, but silken fingers made their way down from his chest and followed the happy trail all the way down to his groin, only to clasp around his erection. His erection twitched upwards, as if it wanted to be held by this man and a stifled groan escaped his lips when that hand masterfully stroked him, squeezing at the right time, in the right place. He felt as if he was burning from the inside, the flames of passion licking along the spine and dissipating deliciously into his limbs and chest. He wanted to gasp out his lover's name but couldn't, not with those fingers still twirling around in his mouth.

The fingers finally withdrew from his mouth and he gasped out Alistair's name when as his hand stroked down, leaving a trail of fire behind, to place a leg over muscular shoulders. He gave a soft whine when his erection was released from that warm, tight grip and he leaned back on his forearms. His blue eyes took in Alistair moving the remaining leg over his over shoulder. His calves rested comfortably on the man's shoulder blades while his feet touched the lower back. He could feel the strong back muscles working and straining as his lover knelt back. His eyes couldn't take the sight of that, fearing that he would come at that exotic sight of his naked friend. That broad, ripped chest and his taut abdomen. The way he held himself, even when leaning back, was dominating, controlling but in a comfortable, reassuring way. He felt something tingle at the base of his spine and he closed his eyes, not wanting to climax so soon. _Wouldn't that be embarrassing? To come before we even get to the good part?_ His thoughts scattered though at the sensation of something wet clasping their erections together and his hands grasped helplessly at the snow. His hips jerked upwards and he panted when that spit-slicked hand gripped, squeezed and stroked their erections together. Something grunted and growled near him. Were the wolves here as well? Who was making those animalistic sounds?

Then a name was snarled at him in a rough, husky voice and Hadrian's eyes flew open at the realization that it was Alistair who was making those grunting noises, Alistair who was perched above him, his hand holding their erections together, moving along their hot shafts in such a perfect way, his name called out to him in that hoarse pitch.

Alistair shifted his hips forward and Hadrian heard them both hiss at their erections rubbing against each other. The fear of penetration suddenly flew right out of Hadrian's mind and he gave a choked moan when Alistair rolled his hips forward, gently pressing the tips and allowing their shafts to parry with each other in the most seductive manner.

They soon got into a rhythm that had them both shuddering and calling out each other's names. It felt so familiar to Alistair that he almost forgot that Hadrian was the first man, heck, the first person he was doing sexual things with. He peered down at that flushed face and groaned at the sight of the blushed cheeks, those sexy lips parting and he dove for that luscious mouth, wanting to taste his sweetness. Arms wrapped around his back, fingers splayed across the large back. He felt rather than heard his lover groan into the kiss when he picked that moment to snap his hips forward, to abruptly increase the pace of their thrusting.

It didn't long for the man underneath him to start trembling and shivering in the impending climax. Hadrian jerked in his embrace and he unwittingly pulled back from the kiss, only to let out a soft cry of Alistair's name. Alistair felt something hot splatter on both bellies and the feeling of Hadrian's essence on his own stomach triggered his. _**Bite him. Claim him as **_**yours...**Alistair gave into that voice and bit down on the junction where his lover's neck met the shoulder, stifling his own moan with a grunt. Like before, the warm crimson liquid spurted hotly into his mouth and there was a burst of sweetness with a hint of salt.

Hadrian's legs, once wrapped tightly around his waist, had fallen limply to the side and his lover's heaving pants soon eased into even breathing.

"Hadrian?" There was no response and Alistair pulled up, only to find those blue eyes closed, hidden away from him. He would have been concerned were it not for the smile gracing his new lover's face. It was a small, satisfied smile that warmed the younger Warden's heart.

He shifted his weight off the slumbering Cousland and retrieved one of his own undergarments. Looking down on his lover, he noticed that come was drying between them and he had an inexplicable urge to taste him. Two fingers swiped the pooling warmth and he licked it off his fingers. It tasted rather sweet, not bitter and the flavour of something that was uniquely Hadrian burst wonderfully across his taste buds. The blonde Warden discovered that he rather liked it and hoped he would have another chance to taste him again.

After cleaning the both of them, he laid next to Hadrian and was immensely pleased at how Hadrian shifted closer to him, the silver head tucking into the crook of his arm. Right before he closed his eyes, he could see a shadowy outline of the large wolf at the edge of the forest, watching them with curious eyes. Despite the lethargy that was spreading throughout his entire body, he had enough energy to pull Hadrian tighter to him. His hand seemed to struggle to reach out for his sword, which was just out of his reach. His heart raced when the large silver wdolf approached inexorably towards them and then curled around the both of them, giving them extra heat for the cool winter night.

_I hope he doesn't plan on having us for breakfast the next morning_ was Alistair's last thought before succumbing to exhaustion.

-o0o-

**Review responses on the original post**

The kid: I hope the chappie answered the question. I'm kinda worried that I may have rushed the intimate scene though..

Aelfric's Cat: Zevran's is very shiny! Just like his dagger was! And yes, I noticed the undefined switching of POVs in the previous chappie. I will keep an eye on this in the future. Thanks for the suggestion. :D

PS. I hope Alistair isn't too OOC.

Blue-Eyed-Beast of Destiny: Too true to that. There were times when I just wanted to do just the main quests and get the game over with. But where's the fun in that? As for the dialogue, I honsestly couldn't remember the exact words of Zevran in his first meeting with the Wardens, so I just took the liberty of filling in the memory gaps. Glad to know you liked that part!

DZD3: Is this a 10 too? It won't hurt my feelings if it's not. Personally, I thought it was kinda rushed but I wanted to get out soon for a special someone (psst, it's The Kid!)

Gatorsnacks: Wouldn't that be fun to write! Zevran and Alistair fighting over Hadrian, with Regus trying to protect his master from unwanted advances of the elf! I thought Zevran was a jerk in the beginning but he eventually worms his way into your heart with his stories and his attitude later on.

David9999: * sighs * thank you for the reassurance! I was getting kinda worried though. I'm wondering on what I should do to have more people review as well as read this story. Any ideas? Perhaps a sudden character death? Lol, just joking. But seriously, any suggestions?

YoshisSupport: I think I can safely say that this has gone AU now. Yep, the group meeting with the Hawkes defin was not canon. That's for sure! Btw, I posted your special request in Black Book. Check it out and lemme know what ya think!

**Review responses for the original post:**

DZD3: No problem. I actually like long reviews. It shows me that you had some deeper thoughts about the chappie. I am hoping this chappie a lot better than the previous post.

Sculla: Yes. I think the Cullen/Amell is one of the best non-canon pairings I've come across and I wanted to do a Cullen/M! Amell pairing. The other origins have unfortunately met their untimely demise (details in chapter 12) so only Amell and Cousland are depicted in this story. I hope in this chapter, Alistair is little bit less OOC than in the original posting of chapter 33.

YoshisSupport: Yep, I did all three smuts in one day! Hope you enjoy this one too!

The kid: Please sign up for so I can personally pm you details on the story without putting up spoilers in the 'Review responses'! I love your reviews and I really want to give you more detailed answers. You could also be another BETA reader for me!

Anyhoo, with that aside, the next chappie will shift to Fergus and Anders. I hadn't planned on focusing on Cullen yet but I think I can squeeze in a nice section of our handsome Templar in the next update. A gift to you and another anony reader, Sculla.

AElfric's Cat: To my wonderful BETA reader, I truly hope this chappie is a lot better than its predecessor. Thanks for the awesome feedback!

Gatorsnacks: I personally think Cullen wasn't given enough attention in DA 1, so I decided to add him to my story. Besides, he really needs his favourite mage to heal him, both mentally and physically.

David9999: I rewrote chappie 33, so I hope it's equally if not more enjoyable. You are more than welcome to ask me for any advice or help and to also leave suggestions if you have any for my story. Thanks so much for keeping up with this story and with _TLA!_

**A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed this chappie. I see many more like this to come, but with various pairings involved, even straight ones! Ooh!

Loose details on the next chapter: Hadrian and Alistair wake up to find themselves in an awkward position. Meanwhile, Anders finds his phylactery and something else. Fergus, on the other hand, is really starting to wish that he had killed Howe upon first sight as he arrives at Redcliffe Castle. Meanwhile, somehow Amell and Cullen share the exact same dream, bearing unforeseen but not wholly unwelcome consequences later on.


	34. Memories of the Past

**A/N:** Many apologies for the delayed update. School just started and a torn knee just came up as well. Very sad face. Anyhoo, many thanks to **AElfric's Cat**, my beta-reader, and to all those who have kept with the story so far. Cookies for those who left a little something behind i.e. reviews. For those are impatient for smut, check out the BLACK BOOK! Enjoy! Also, I may/may not have time to post replies for reviews in the chapter. So please don't be offended if later chappies don't have them!

**Legend:**

_blah_ thought

_/blah/_ someone speaking from a past memory

**blah** telepathic speaking

20 Summers – 20 years

Candlelight – equivalent to one hour

**Thanks**: _Biganimefan2__; __Aarik076__; __emtownzend__; __Lannister__Blue-Eyed-Beast-of-Destiny__; __Noerani Sat;__Daashi_for placing this story on their faves

and: _Agarwaenloth__; __Biganimefan2__; __JaenelleSe;n__invisemmbl;e__ItsADrizzit__; __VolunteerElf__; __Blue-Eyed-Beast-of-Destiny__; __AElfric's Cat__;_ and_ Morwen _for listing this story on their alerts page.

Chapter 34: Memories of the Past

Cullen opened his eyes and he found himself back in the Circle. The plain walls and marble doors with names etched on them told him that he was on the Apprentice Floor, third floor up in the Tower. It was early morning, around about the fifth hour to the Sun, and thus, Cullen wasn't surprised to no one walking about. What did catch his ear, though, were muffled moans coming from a room and some scuffling around. Cullen would have walked onwards, knowing that some mages had to seek physical comfort in the dark, away from the prying eyes of both Templar and mage alike. The moans were strained though, and a cry of pain emitted nearby followed by a snarl of something.

He approached the door from where the sounds originated and immediately, the sounds died. A suspicion rose in his mind and he turned to the hallway, giving them the impression that he was walking away. As soon as he went a few feet away, the strangled moans came back, followed by soft cries of 'Stop! Please! Someone!'

The cry was cut short by a loud slap and a thudding sound. Instantly, Cullen retreated back to the door and slammed it open, not even bothering to knock first. Unlike most of Templars, who would turn a blind eye to any sort of scuffling between a mage and a Templar, Cullen still believed in upholding every moral right and that respect goes a long way. Thus, to see a good friend of his ravishing a clearly unwilling participant made him absolutely livid.

"Cullen?" The Templar asked or rather confirmed the presence of another Templar. His friend continued thrusting wildly into the unfortunate person. Cullen could tell it was a mage by the smaller stature, the robes lying haphazardly on the floor, almost torn in half. "Want to have a go at him? He's really nice and tight."

There was a gasp, but Cullen was certain it wasn't one born of pleasure for the mage turned to stare at him. The expression of fear plastered on that pale face both shocked and angered the newcomer. Those frightened green eyes stared back at him fearfully and he cried out to Cullen, only to have his face shoved into the wall. There was a loud snap and the mage groaned in pain.

"Keep your eyes away from your betters!" The other Templar growled viciously at his victim and he picked that moment to thrust even more roughly into the body beneath him. "Well, Cullen?"

Cullen didn't give an answer. Instead, he walked away, the pleas for help still echoing in his mind. Those haunting emerald eyes that begged for his interference.

"Suit yourself," his friend grunted. "Perhaps next time, eh?"

_Next time?_ Cullen stopped short and his fists clenched at his side. _Next time? He acts as if he could get away with us!_ That thought infuriated him, as did those pained grunts and pleas for someone to help him.

He closed the door softly, letting it click loudly so that the other Templar could hear it. Apparently, his friend thought they were alone for he suddenly started talking to his victim in a sneering tone.

"See, even if you do call for help, no one cares for you mages. And you, Loren, you've been wanting this ever since you first arrived. Been begging for someone to take that piece of ass and now, you're mine. Not even Commander Greagoir will stop me from having you."

"No...no...Maker...please...anyone...urggh! _No!_" The mage still struggled in the templar's strong grip, but the hands still pinning down on his shoulder and head didn't move.

"Shut up, and just take it like a bitch you are!"

A scream that sounded throughout the room tore at Cullen's heart. _Loren Amell? _He remembered now. The name that so often haunted his dreams. That kind face with confident, intelligent eyes. Now, to see that face twisted in agony and horror as his body was forced to endure such a savage assault filled the Templar will an all-consuming rage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed the Templar by the shoulders and shoved him backwards. Cullen was wearing his full suit of armor while his now enemy wore only the greaves and a thick tunic, all the easier for targeting mages.

"What, what are you doing?" His enemy's eyes widened in disbelief when Cullen stepped in front of the mage, protecting him from his attacker. "You're actually protecting this piece of shit?"

"That is our sworn duty, Ser Isaac. Or did you forget that?"

"Open your eyes, Cullen! These mages don't need protecting! They need to be chained! It's why they're in the Tower in the first place! We're protecting society _from_ them!"

"No," Cullen disagreed, still standing between Ser Isaac and the mage, who trembled against the wall. His arms wrapped around his torso and his knees were drawn up tight to his chest, as if trying to make himself as small and insignificant as possible.

Ser Isaac just shook his head, laughing as he got up and brushed the dirt off his tunic. Cullen's eyes narrowed at the devilish grin that stretched across his features and he feared what the Templar would say next.

"As if anyone's going to believe in this mage. Besides, I can always get another one to satisfy my craving. Even if you were to report me, the worst I'll get is suspension."

Ser Isaac threw a dirty look at the mage and winked at him. "I'll be seeing you," he promised darkly before turning to the door, not fully aware of Cullen marching up to him, a sword drawn out. Before he could open the latch, Cullen thrust his sword into the man who was once his friend. He couldn't even gasp out Cullen's name as a gauntlet hand covered his mouth.

Cullen whispered in his friend's ear, "not if you're dead."

"That's what you really wanted to do," a soft voice called out to him and Cullen sharply turned behind him, to see the mage standing before him. He was fully clothed now and there was no evidence of the dark-haired man being raped. "But, you were always the righteous one. Instead, you reported him and just like he said, the worst he got was suspension."

Anger simmered in those emerald eyes and Cullen stepped backwards, suddenly afraid of this man who had been shivering in fear just not too long ago. Those eyes turned kind though and the mage walked up to him, his head tilted up slightly.

"I had to leave," Loren whispered to him quietly, a hand cupping his left cheek. Cullen gasped at the electric feel of his thumb brushing underneath his eye, "for both our sakes. They would have you kill me and my death would serve as an example to all other rebellious mages."

"No, no, no! You should have stayed! If you'd stayed, none of this would have happened! Instead, you went with that bastard!"

"Jowan is _not_ a bastard. He is a friend of mine, who's just unlucky."

"He is a maleficar! Just like...just like..." Cullen's voice hitched in his throat at the unwanted memories thrust upon him. The images of a forty-year old man with cruel, black eyes and an unnatural penchant for power.

"Like Uldred?" Loren finished for him. "No, Jowan is purer of heart than that monster. He did what anyone else would have done in a dire situation, to survive."

"Blood magic and consorting with demons? You'd-"

Loren stepped even closer to him, his hand raised towards the Templar. Cullen expected the young mage to punch him though and he flinched when hands pressed softly against his cheeks. He unwittingly released a soft moan when cool fingers brushed soothingly along his brows. The frown lines Cullen possessed eased away underneath the roving digits and he found them tracing his lips briefly before those hands cupped the back of his head. Blue eyes closed before snapping open when a pair of soft lips slanted on top of his before withdrawing.

"You know me," Loren whispered heatedly and Cullen shivered at the mage's hot breath blowing gently in his ear. That voice! How sinful it sounded, how it kept him awake for the past year since that horrible incident. With the way the mage carried himself, one would think it hadn't happened. However, Cullen felt that Loren only acted this way with his rescuer. He _saw_ Loren's reflexive flinches whenever a Templar got too close. He _felt_ the panic rising in that beautiful, slender form of the twenty year old mage.

"I've got to go now, Cullen," Loren said in an abrupt manner, breaking the heat of the moment. His hands let go of his face and already Cullen missed the reassuring warmth of his mage. _Wait, my mage?_

"Wait!" Cullen tried to grab that lovely hand but it simply fell through his own. He let out a cry of distraught when Loren began to disappear. The only thing he heard was a whisper of a name, of a place.

"Cullen...Cullen..." another voice was calling him. A voice not like Loren's at all. It was feminine and it lacked Loren's youthful tenor.

His eyes popped open and he burst from the bed, his hand still reaching out for the vanished dark-haired mage.

"Easy, young man. No harm will come to you here. Not without all these Grey Wardens about anyways."

"Grey...Wardens?" Cullen was confused by the term and his eyes blinked rapidly, trying to bring his surroundings into focus.

An older face greeted him, a small wane smile gracing her weathered features. Her pale grey eyes peered back at him in concern and she laid a cool a hand on his forehead.

There was a 'tsking' sound, as if she was a mother about to berate a child for standing out in the rain for too long. She withdrew her hand only to offer him a bowl of something, a dark liquid sloshing a little bit in its container.

"It's not poison, Cullen. I haven't earned my status as Senior Enchanter by poisoning the Templars."

The templar grimaced as he was chagrined at how easily she read his thoughts. He took the bowl in shaky hands, which were supported by her own.

"Grey Wardens?" Cullen asked again, finding his voice much firmer this time after that refreshing drink. Satisfied that he was done with it, Wynne took the bowl away from him and set it aside. She gently laid him back down onto the small blanket and tucked the tops around his shoulder before kneeling back.

With the candlelight flickering, the Templar could see the wrinkles on her face and the strained lines around her eyes. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad enough for even an experienced mage like her to look so tired, so exhausted and beat-down.

"Yes. Do you remember?"

Cullen closed his eyes and the only faces he saw were those of that lovely mage and that accursed monster. _No! This...this could be a dream...another illusion!_

**/This is no dream, Cullen****/** Loren said to him in comforting tones.

"Cullen?" The templar opened his eyes and he shook his head. He didn't really remember and he preferred it to stay that way.

"That's ok," she said calmly, almost motherly. She placed a small white cloth across his forehead and he sighed in relief, delighting in how cool it felt against his hot forehead. "Go and rest. Our two Wardens are still out but they should be back before the sun comes up."

"...Loren..." was all Cullen could say before his eyes drifted shut and he unwillingly entered the Fade, not knowing that Wynne was staring back at him, her mouth open in shock.

-o0o-

"You ok, Loren? You've been oddly quiet since we left camp." Fergus' voice sounded worried and the dark-haired mage was grateful that someone still cared for him, despite his heritage, his gift or curse. The mage's eyes were looking down at the ground for quite some time, finding amusement in the overturned stones, the little bugs that would scrawl away from them. Even the animals were afraid of him. At that question, Loren glanced upwards and towards the sun-kissed face of the Cousland.

Fergus' face appeared stronger now. Bruises no longer coloured his cheeks and those dark-brown eyes shone with life, unlike their dullness from a few days ago. The outward physical appearance, overall, had improved vastly since the bandits' ambush. _Thanks to me_, Loren thought. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn't found the oldest Cousland. Possible scenarios zipped in his mind. Fergus dead, stabbed by lowly scavengers. Fergus kidnapped and possibly used as a means of entertainment. Rough men like to break those who were like Fergus, who was firm, handsome, and noble. Loren shuddered at that thought, at the image of someone violating his closest friend just to slake his thirst. Yes, he knew all about that.

"Loren? You're glowing again," Fergus quipped lightly and Loren flinched reflexively when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Easy there! It's just me, just Fergus here."

"I am sorry," Loren apologized, his voice thick and raw from lack of sleep. Fergus realized that perhaps touching Loren on the shoulder was not a good idea. He let go of the mage and his hand fell limply at his side.

"Didn't get any sleep last night?" Fergus asked in a careful tone, not wanting to rile up the mage. He had woken up several times to hear the mage mumbling incoherently and him thrashing around in his blankets. There was a point where Loren actually screamed and it set Fergus on edge immediately. The scream had been horrifying in its desperation, something he would definitely not pin on a strong-willed mage like Loren.

"No," Loren shook his head tiredly. The mage raised a slender hand to rub his face and already Fergus could see dark circles growing underneath those weary eyes. The emerald orbs lacked their usual luster, and the man could tell that the mage was worried about something – or, rather, someone.

He had heard Loren's soft calls of "Cullen" several times and Fergus thanked the Maker that someone was there to stop the violation from continuing. If he ever saw this Templar in person, he would personally have to thank him for being with his friend on that day and from that point on as well.

"Well, looks like we're here and someone is already accosting us with weapons drawn," Loren's quiet murmur brought Fergus out of his contemplation.

As Loren had just observed now, Fergus saw that there was indeed a man approaching them from the other end of the bridge they had just crossed. He bore the shield of Redcliffe, a symbol of a castle etched into the background of red and white semicircles. His sword was unsheathed but the man walked almost belligerently up to them, his shoulders stiff and his face set in a grim, stern expression.

"State your business, quickly."

"Apparently guards are extremely lacking in manners these days," Loren said in a sarcastic tone. Fergus glared at him briefly before turning to the soldier, who did not appear amused.

"What is this mage doing with you? Are you a templar?" The guard's eyes flickered back and forth between the two nervously. His hand edged its way closer and closer to the sword hilt.

"I am Fergus Cousland and this is Loren Amell. Our business is our own." Fergus answered the soldier's question coolly. While he understood the soldier's need for terseness, it did not excuse the belligerent and rude attitude towards a noble.

"Cousland? Nice try. Lord Fergus Cousland has been sent to Ostagar, though, little news of the battle has reached us."

The guard's hand went up in the air, closed in a tight fist. It was a signal of sorts as the pair of men suddenly found themselves surrounded by Eamon's Knights. Their armor was darker and made of high quality steel. One of them, a burly blonde with light blue eyes, stalked up to the tall Cousland and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the only surviving Cousland before darting back to the guard.

"What's the meaning of this, Ser Knight? Is this some sort of joke?" The blonde towered over the pale guard, who gulped nervously.

"He could be an imposter, Ser. I thought..."

"You didn't think, you imbecile. Elric, take his place for guard duty."

"Yes, ser!" A young man, no older than twenty summers, hastily ran up to take the incumbent's place. The blonde muttered a curse before turning his attention to the two men. He bowed from his waist, a hand braced diagonally across his breastplate.

"My sincerest apologies, your Grace." The man's eyes glued to the rocky ground and his face flushed with embarrassment at his guards' failure to recognize a Cousland.

"Yevin? Maker's blessings, it is you! What happened here? I thought Arl Eamon was supposed to be at Ostagar!"

The smile was gone from Yevin's face and the blonde grimaced. "Things are a mystery here. Come with us, your Grace, and your friend too. He comes as well. Don't want Templars landing on our doorstep and screwing things up too."

"Templars? I thought you were the religious type." Fergus said. The guards formed a protective circle around the two as they escorted them down the rusty-looking hillside and to the Chantry.

"I was until they literally came home and took my sister away," Yevin whispered. A lay sister was watching them with careful eyes and, more wary ears. He cleared his throat, signaling to Fergus that it was time to move on with a different topic. Fergus nodded his head in response and he wordlessly followed the leading Captain into the chantry. He was all too aware of the burning gaze of his friend; however, he trusted Loren enough to not do anything drastic, like running away to rescue his friend Jowan, at least long enough for them to be out of Redcliffe Castle. How wrong he was indeed.

-o0o-

Arren had seen death before. His father was the very first and the fires that took his life still reigned indelibly in Arren's mind. _Run, son! Run and don't look back!_ The hoarse words spoken to him were all Arren really remembered of him now. Death had never been kind in holding back. It was gruesome and quick, merciless and undiscriminating. In this case, it proved too true, too real, and for once, he intended to be its harbringer.

It had only been a few candlelights since Anders' departure for his phylactery. /Whatever you do, _don't_ come after me/ Damn that man! After going through all the trouble of saving him, the blonde dared to command him that? To just abandon him in this crime-infested city?

Anders made him promise to not come after him but a feeling of wrongness gnawed at his stomach, at his nerves until finally he had enough of the waiting. He had hoped to sneak out of the room he and his family managed to procure for two nights. He really should have known better though and his head shook ruefully at his siblings who were waiting for him at the door. They were already dressed for battle: Carver attired in his silver chainmail armor and Bethany wore her mage robes. They both had their weapons slung over their shoulders.

"You really didn't think to try sneak past us, hmm?" Carver's voice was almost biting in tone, but with the worried frown scowling his handsome features, Arren knew that his little brother was truly concerned about him. "Good thing you're not a rogue. You'd be dead by now, with your not so subtle movements."

"Carver, don't you think that's a little rude? He's trying to save his friend without involving us." Bethany patronized her twin sibling. She then turned her face to regard the mage. "We're coming with you. No 'ifs,' 'ands', or 'buts'."

Her tone was final and indicated that her mind was set. Arren just sighed heavily at his siblings' stubborness. At least this way, he wouldn't have to worry about templars taking away his sister. He had seen a few of them patrolling the area near the Chantry and they had often gazed at him and his family a lot longer than what was polite.

"What about mother?" Arren asked his younger brother as he approached the door and opened it.

"She's sleeping." Carver replied. "I didn't want to her to worry about us."

"Let's just get this over with. Hopefully, Anders is still alive when we rescue him," Arren said to his siblings. The door to their room shut softly behind them as the trio walked down the stairs of the Lion's Head tavern. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the customers, they all marched out into the open air of the city.

Cool night air wafted into the room, bringing with it the stench of horses, armour, and excrements. Arren still had no idea why Amaranthine was considered the "Jewel" of Ferelden when it stank so much that it nauseated him.

Half of a candlelight though, when he espied on a pair of Templars guarding an innocent-looking warehouse, fear overwhelmed that nauseous feeling and it made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

"Keep moving along," the guard on the left groused at him. His face was hidden behind the visor but the Hawkes could clearly see the guarded look in those black eyes that peered at them suspiciously.

"Hey, you three look familiar," the guard's partner quipped, his hand already wrapped around the sword's hilt. "You two." A finger was pointed in Arren's and Bethany's directions. "You're mages. Might you be sent by the Circle of Magi? If so, where are your handlers?"

"Handlers?"Bethany whispered to Arren. Unfortunately, the guard caught on to that question and he raised his hand in the air. The trio thought he was going to alert every Templar in that area but familiar words drifted to them.

"_By Maker's hand, let their gifts flow away like water ebbing into the seas of nothingness."_

"Carver! He's summoning the anti-magic field!" Arren shouted, his staff already out and spitting blue spheres of energy at the other guard.

"On it!" Carver rushed at the guard and bowled over him, knocking him back to the ground and

thus disrupting the incantation.

Pleased to see his brother taking care of that guard, he reverted his attention back to the first guard that had spoken to him. He was unmoving and Arren's eyes shifted to the glowing blue sigil on the ground before darting to his sister. A smile of thanks brightened the older mage's worried face.

After spending only a few moments dispatching the guards, Arren stood in front of the door and froze at a scream of agony that echoed from within. He could hear a shrill voice cackling in a delightful glee, the words of "Enchanted" and "blood mage" being the most prominent out of their conversation.

_/My son, there's a reason why I left Kirkwall. The Templars esteemed themselves as judge, jury, and exceutioner. Death is a mercy for us mages. The worst punishment is to be enchanted, to be forever emotionless, to have your dreams be taken away from you and you wouldn't know any better. /_

His father's voice whispered to him from the depths of his consciousness. He tried to force the door open with his body but it wouldn't budge at all. Either it was magically sealed from the inside or he just simply wasn't strong enough.

"Move, brother," Carver shouted and Arren moved away. His younger brother forcefully kicked the door open, revealing a most horrifying scene to both Arren and Bethany.

Anders hung limply between the two templars, his arms stretched out away from him. Blood dripped from the right side of his head, the blond strands sticking to his forehead. Even from their position, the Hawkes could clearly see the sign of the Maker's eye drawn into the seemingly unconscious mage's forehead.

A tall red-haired woman stared at them credulously, as if she couldn't believe that someone had dared to interrupt her in her rightful proceedings. Arren noticed that she held something tightly in her gauntled fist, a vial with crimson liquid swirling inside. However, that was the least of his worries.

The sight of his friend being forced into a kneeling position by two Templars enraged him and something simmered underneath his skin. The power tingled along his nerves and it seemed to gather right at his fingertips.

While he had never seen it done, his father's stories provided him enough information for him to deduce that his new friend was now caught in such a situation. /_The Chant of Enlightenment. It is an irreversible curse, easily abused by the Templars. Once a mage loses his Maker-given gifts, he loses a part of his soul./ _He only met this blonde mage a week ago and yet it seemed like a lifetime to him.

His father's words were harshly echoed by that hated Chant. Arren felt something tingle along his spine and into his limbs, until his hands throbbed almost painfully. Power exploded then from Arren's fingers and dark, purple light enveloped all of them, except for him and Anders. Screams punctuated the dark area followed by a woman screeching out orders. Metal rang out and there were sounds of scuffling, of people roaming aimlessly in the dark, trying to discern the locations of their allies.

"Rylock! Ser Rylock!" A young, scared voice cried out. His cry was easily swallowed by other groans and screams. The Knight-Commander Rylock shouted out to her men and the purple light was pushed back with its white counterpart. The area sizzled and hissed around them as the anti-magic spell tried to neutralize its magical counterpart. It was too late though for by the time they cast it, Arren had already retrieved his friend out of there. He shoved Anders unceremoniously behind him, into the middle of a protective circle his family had made around them.

"Arren? We really need to get out of here! There are more Templars than of us!" His sister shouted out as she attempted to put up a shield but ultimately failing due to the anti-magic field.

"Anders?" Bethany's eyes flickered quickly over to Anders' unmoving form before darting back to the Templars in front of her. The enraged female commander stalked towards them, the intent to kill shining in her black eyes. The oldest Hawke shivered at those beady eyes locked unto his. _She doesn't really intend to let us escape! Not alive!_

To support her reasoning, Ser Rylock drew her sword and pointed the business end of it at them. "Kill them! They are apostates! Do not let them escape!"

"Get down, Bethany!" Carver shouted, plunging his Greatsword into the stomach of an oncoming templar. She grimaced at how blood splashed unto her and at the sight of that confused youthful face. It was the same one who was calling out to Commander Rylock. The youth's mouth gaped open, as if to let out a scream of pain. Instead, he merely stepped backwards, clutching at his stomach.

"I'm...s-sorry..." came a pained whisper and he fell backwards, his sword clattering loudly against the stone floor. Bethany's face paled even more at the apology and she stumbled forward. However, Arren knew that the youth was dead. The pool of blood that spilled out from the still body was still growing. Pale, shaking hands turned him over and tears came unbidden in his sister's eyes as the youth's head lolled lifelessly into her arms.

"Bethany! Bethany! Snap out of it! We've got to get out of here!" Carver shook her on the shoulder, his hand urging her to her feet. Suddenly, the exigency of the situation was thrust upon her and she hastily climbed to her feet. If Carver was shocked at the sudden steely determination in her eyes, he didn't say anything to indicate so. Instead, he quickly swept his sword out in front of him. An agonised scream coming from his defeated enemy pierced the air before finally trailing off into a weak gurgle and then silence followed.

-o0o-

It was the silence that roused Ander out of his stupor and realize that the hands which were manhandling him did not belong to his friends. The twins were too busy to fend themselves off from the Templars attack to notice that he had been taken again. Fortunately though, the blonde mage had regained enough of his senses to start fighting back, using every dirty trick he knew of. A bite here. A low blow in the groin there. It was enough to gain some time for Arren to rescue the trio and Anders shivered at the raw power exuding from the handsome mage's body.

The blonde mage saw that Arren had already put down five Templars by himself, even with present of the white cloud smoking around him, hissing as it tried to smother the magical energies of the mages present. Apparently, he was not fully dependent on magic. It was evident by his fluid movements that he had learned how to fight with just his hands and feet. Another Templar had struck for him from behind and Anders was startled to see how fast the mage had simply ducked underneath the incoming blow and then kicked the legs out from underneath him. The Templar gave a breathless gasp upon landing hard on the floor and then suddenly clutching helplessly at a sword plunged through his shoulder. Anders blinked rapidly. _How did he do that so fast? It's as if he doesn't even need magic to defend himself!_

"Fucking mages!" Ser Rylock spat and Anders let out a blood-curdling scream of 'No!' when her shield knocked Arren's slender form down from behind. It seemed as if all the power had gone from him for he stumbled forward before grasping at his side, blood spurting quickly from his right hand.

When Anders saw the tip of the Commander's sword thrusting out from Arren's stomach, something broke inside the blonde mage. _No! Not again! I won't allow it! I won't have someone get killed because of me!_

Rage boiled within his heart heart and there was a hoarse yell of the downed mage's name. It didn't come from him but from the approaching brunette, who was closely followed by another one. _The Hawke twins...coming to their brother's aide..._

Ser Rylock laughed, her voice rasping horribly in their ears. It was unpleasant, like sandpaper grating against the grain of wood. She withdrew the sword and Arren fell to his knees, gasping in agony as he held his hand against the bleeding wound.

"Now, you die, mage!" She cackled as she raised her sword back. The sword was thrust forward again but as it came down on the motionless figure, it turned to ash. The sword crumbled into dust and she let out a scream of frustration, of being denied something.

"Arren! Arren!" Bethany called out to her brother and she reached out to the slumped form, gathering him in her arms. Carver stood over them, his sword out ready to defend his siblings, ready to give his life for them.

"Don't touch him!" Anders growled dangerously and did not flinch when Rylock's eyes attempted to pin him with a stoney glare. Only minutes ago, he was kneeling before her, his head held in supplication, with blood dripping down the side of that mocking face. Now, now, he was standing straight and his body glowed hotly with power. Tendrils of lightning caressed his body and he heard Rylock gasp when he no longer appeared weak and powerless before her. Those eyes were no longer soft and weak. They were as hard as diamonds, tinged a dark red with anger.

"An abomination!" She hissed at the mage and her hand quickly darted inside. Anders didn't give her a chance to throw the hidden dagger by sending out a lightning bolt at her hand. Her dagger fell uselessly out of numb fingers and she snarled at how quickly the mage seemed to anticipate her move.

"I am not an abomination," the thing posing as Anders said in a deep voice, "and you, you are gone."

Rylock wasn't even allowed to scream and, before the Hawkes could do anything, the Knight-Commander's body burst into blue flames, which licked hungrily at the writhing organic mass until there was nothing left. Satisfied that this hateful enemy, this woman had been dogging his footsteps for most of his life, he reared his head back and loosed a screech of triumph. His eyes had closed and the mage failed to see Carver grimace and to see Bethany's face blanch at that awful sound.

"Bethany! This man is dangerous! We need to get mother and get out of here!" Anders heard Carver urged his sister upwards, all the while juggling his brother's limp form into his arms.

"No! Can't you see, Carver? He saved us!" Bethany argued in defense of him, but still clambering to her feet. Her robes were wet at the bottom and the trio realized with a sickening thought that her clothes were slick with blood. Arren's blood.

"Saved us? He just killed that woman! As if she was nothing!" Carver shouted back, finally able to sling Arren's shoulder over his.

"No! He just killed her! The other templars, the ones we only knocked unconscious are still alive!"

True to her words, the seven other templars were lying motionless on the floor, in various positions but still groaning-and thus, still alive. Not dead like that crazed Commander.

He set his lips into a thin smile at his sister's observation. Anders, for his part, hadn't moved from his spot. However, his eyes reverted back to their normal, honeyed brown tones.

"Wha? What happened? Arren! Is he?" He strove forward and was stopped by Carver's sword pointed at his chest.

"Carver! What are you doing?" Bethany shouted angrily at her brother. She tried to push down on Carver's hand but Carver refused to budge.

"You see? He can't even control himself! He's dangerous, Bethany! Like all mages!"

"Then you'll have to kill us too, when we're gone mad," Bethany said quietly. Her soft reply took Carver aback. He was too astonished to say something in return, too stunned by her easy proclamation of her death at his hands. Would he have done the same like Rylock? Could he strike down a crazed mage? Someone who was his own flesh and blood? _No, you would find another way to save them...they're all you have left._

He nodded and pointed his sword downwards before finally sheathing in its scabbard.

"Let's just get out of here," Carver grunted as he hefted his brother over his shoulders. Arren gave a soft moan of pain at the abrupt movement. Carver mumbled a quiet apology to the elder Hawke while Bethany made sure he was comfortable for the time being. "You, you're coming with us."

Anders heard the sharp command but as if from a distance. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Rylock had been. Anders knelt down and reached out for the broken piece of glass, the only remnant of Rylock's existence. He remembered her taunting him with his own phylactery, waving it in front of his face before shoving it underneath her breastplate. Now, now it was gone. He was finally free, free from the Circle, from the Templars, and from the Chantry. A heavy weight was finally lifted from his shoulders and he felt lighter.

"Anders," Bethany whispered to him, a hand gently taking his elbow and pulling him back. "Arren, he's hurt, badly. You're the only healer in our group." _He needs you..._ was the unspoken plea and it helped the healer anchor himself to this world. He stood up albeit shakily before following the departing Hawkes. All they left in their wake were seven unconscious Templars with five dead ones.

Somehow his friends' mother had known trouble was brewing and had already packed several bags, waiting for them at the Lion's Head Pub. It was late at night and respectful citizens of Amaranthine were already in bed, sleeping, unaware of the trio hastily returning to the pub and then stumbling to the port, an injured man still slung over another one's shoulder. Along the way, Anders saw that some Templars were massing right outside the Chantry, ready to inspect the unruly scene of four people running about at an ungodly candlelight. He hoped that they could board on a ship in time.

"Ser! Please! You have to let us on!" He heard Leandra plea with a scruffy looking captain, whose single eye raked over the group suspiciously.

"Humph. I've barely just enough to fit me lads on 'ere. Who's gonna pay up?"

"Look," Carver strode up to the captain, the added weight not seeming to bother him at all. "Either we go on this ship or you'll have the authorities running after you."

"You don't intimidate me, lad. But, I like that hard look in yer eye. Rare to find someone so passionate 'but somethin'. Alrighty then, come aboard. Yer lucky the ship stayed for another minute or so. Headin' out to Kirkwall seein' as we also outstayed our welcome."

"Kirkwall? We're really going to Kirkwall?" Anders asked Bethany. She turned her head at the question, a perplexed look at his question. "Yes, it's the only place we have left. Mother said we still have relatives there. Perhaps, we can settle there. Maybe not. But it's still a place to call home."

_Home? I haven't called a place home in years...not since..._Anders shook his head ruefully at that depressing memory, of being taken from his parents by the Templars. No matter where you went, there was no such thing as 'home' for a mage, especially an apostate. As he boarded the large ship and settled comfortably in the cargo bay below the deck, he gazed down at the still body of Arren, his hands gently roving over the old wounds. Arren groaned, his body shifting restlessly underneath his healing hands.

"...Anders..." the dark-haired mage moaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open to reveal water golden depths.

"Sshh. We're going to Kirkwall," Anders replied soothingly, his hand stroking back the errant hair from his forehead.

"...home?..."

"Yes," Anders said. "We're going home..."

The answer must have been satisfactory for the mage gifted him a weak, but genuine smile before slipping back into sleep, lulled by Anders' melodic voice and gentle hands.

-o0o-

**Be sure to go to my profile and vote for Fergus' sweetheart! Leliana is winning for the moment followed closely by our favourite Assassin, Zevran. There's only one chapter left (one month left) to do so!**


	35. The Next Morning

A/N: Hello, readers! I am alive and walking! Yay! And apparently posting too!

Anyhoo, major thanks to **AElfric's Cat** for beta-reading. She/he has done an awesome job in helping me sort out the unnecessary fluff, etc, etc. Also, this update would have been delayed till tomorrow or even next week were it not for the nudging from **Biganimefan, YoshisSupport**, and **the kid**. I do have a lot of homework to do in the next month so please just bear with me! Thanks to all readers and reviewers, most especially reviewers for their continued support and encouragement! If you have any suggestions about where the story should go, feel free to post it in a review!

Legend:

_**/blah/**_ Zarieth's speech

/_blah_/ someone speaking in a memory

**blah** Alistair's alpha speaking (inner wolf)

Alistair is a year younger than Hadrian. So, sometimes, he will be described as 'younger Warden'. However, in issues dealing with Warden stuff, he holds a higher rank than Hadrian due to his Joining occurring six months prior to the whole Ostagar/Hadrian's Joining part. Thus, he can also be described as a 'senior Warden.' I hope that clears up any confusion!

**Chapter 35: The Next Morning**

-o0o-

The warmth of the sun was what woke the smaller figure. The silver head moved slightly, his lips parting to let out a breathless sigh. The man shifted and he murmured a protest when something tightened around him, pulling his body even tighter against that broad chest. Someone murmured his name in reply and Hadrian gasped as dry, chapped lips kissed the nape of his neck. His lower half gently pushed back and he heard someone sigh in response, the body behind him moving even closer to his own. Something hard slid harmlessly into the cleft of his ass. Cerulean eyes snapped open and Hadrian's head whipped around.

A hoarse, almost angry shout pierced the still air of the morning and the poor sleeping man startled awake to Hadrian yelling out his name.

"Alistair? What the-what are you-how did this happen?" Hadrian sputtered wildly and his head whipped from side to side. The only real blankets he could use to cover his nakedness were his sparse garments, thin and flimsy. Panic rose rapidly and his heart pounded in his ears, the sound drowning out Alistair's questions of concern for a moment.

"Where are we? Did we-?" The question trailed off but the templar knew what his friend was asking about.

"Did we what? Oh! No!" Alistair began to say hesitantly, "we didn't."

"...oh...I see..." Hadrian almost sounded disappointed. _Almost._

In their embarrassment, they both failed to see a large group of wolves watching them with curious eyes from afar. One of them, the dark-brown wolf, made an impatient sound, almost a growl of sorts.

_**Alpha, he is not good for our brother. His uncertainty will undermine our brother's efforts. **_

Zarieth took notice of his beta's concerns nonchalantly. **And who you suggest, Beta?**

_**That elf, Zevran. At least he's sure of himself...**_

**In skill only; even his heart is haunted by dark shadows. No, Alistair is perfect for our Cousland, if he passes the three tests the High Lord has set for him.**

_**Tests? Ah yes, tests required of the prospective Alpha. First, to show your strength in a fight; the Second, to display your tactical skills in leading a group into battle; and the Third, the Third is the Hunt for your intended. To chase your intended with heart and soul; then to show your dominance without hurting them. That is actually easier said than done, especially in the...**_

The brown wolf groaned and Zarieth licked his beta's face lovingly before nipping at his ear.

**And it was a wonderful chase, was it not, Enerin?**

Other wolves yipped in approval at their Alpha's affectionate display. The Beta snarled at them, but only half-heartedly and that prompted an even louder chorus of yips and howls of approvals.

The loud howls were even heard by the two men; the closeness of the sounds immediately dispersed any feelings of embarrassment and the two Wardens took notice of their surroundings, their senses heightened for any perceived danger. To their dismay, they also noticed that they weren't alone like they thought they were.

Zarieth noticed their gaze and he emitted a low growl to silence his pack, so as not to provoke k His pack immediately obeyed him and they watched their Alpha walk towards the awkward-looking pair, curious to see how this Alistair would fare in the trials to come.

-o0o-

The two Wardens trudged their way back to where the others were, with the wolves long gone behind them. The one ahead of his partner was oblivious to his surroundings, lost in his thoughts. Alistair too was blissfully unaware of the passing trees, the scuttling of animals. His eyes had a much more alluring sight to focus on, however, as they were currently glued to those swaying hips, the shapely buttocks moving in a teasing fashion. His partner was fuming so hard that Alistair could have sworn he saw smoke drifting from his friend's ear. Perhaps Zarieth had told him unpleasant news or something.

Back at their campsite, after Zarieth's approach and subsequent private dialogue with Hadrian, his friend dressed himself, using the large wolf as a barrier of sorts from Alistair's curious eyes. The Cousland acted as if he never wanted Alistair to see him naked, even though it was too late for that. It disheartened him when Hadrian refused to meet his gaze, as if the man was ashamed to have been intimate with him. Despite that though, he had seen Hadrian's blue orbs gazing at him when he wasn't looking. There was a sort of longing expressed beautifully in those eyes and Alistair knew in his gut that Hadrian didn't resent it all. He was just as confused as Alistair was.

Alistair didn't remember last night; the events came to him in jumbled pieces and, try as he might, the broken pieces just refused to come together.

"Hey, they're back!" A female voice shouted out and Alistair looked up, only to find that he and Hadrian had somehow trekked back to their campsite without even being aware of it. He wasn't sure if Hadrian knew the way back, given his unconscious state at that time. Instead of continuing on, the silver-haired man stopped and turned to regard him with cool, blue eyes, causing a shock of arousal to travel down Alistair's spine and down to his lower regions.

"Come to my tent," Hadrian demanded in a growl and the Templar saw how tense the man was. His shoulders were stiff and his whole bearing had changed back to how he was before: taut, regal, but extremely burdened. If Alistair had known this would happen, he would not have taken Hadrian away last night. He would have asked Leliana or someone else to do that, despite Hadrian's plea to have him not tell anyone else about his condition. Now, now he was stuck with confusing emotions. He wasn't given a chance to protest against Hadrian's rather terse summons for Morrigan, of all people had accosted them, her golden eyes narrowing in suspicion. The dark Witch thankfully didn't ask what they were doing. Only Leliana knew of the circumstance surrounding the pair, and from the looks of it, she wasn't going to voluntarily share that information, not without Hadrian's explicit consent.

_Is that all I am now? Hadrian's secret? _

"You look decidedly better," Morrigan sneered at the leader of their group. He ignored her and went promptly to his tent, leaving the trio in shock at his cold attitude. For a while, no one spoke. Leliana's head swiveled back and forth between Alistair and Hadrian's tent before finally landing on Alistair again. Her intelligent green eyes stared in a questioning manner at the templar.

"Alistair? What's going on? Why is Hadrian angry?"

_Angry? Anger doesn't even begin to describe it._ Alistair mused. "He's, uhh, still in pain. You know how men are when they're hurt. They don't like to be coddled to death."

Morrigan threw her head back and laughed harshly at that statement. Leliana didn't laugh but her frown grew until Alistair himself could see the beginnings of creases in her forehead.

"Coddle to death? Oh my, what have our Wardens come to now?"

"Quiet, Morrigan. I truly don't think this is the time to make jest of our friends," Leliana whispered, but her deadly voice cut right through Morrigan's jest.

Alistair didn't give Morrigan a chance to bite back a reply for he darted straight to the golden tent, where Hadrian's hound was waiting for them patiently. He was of course all too aware of curious stares boring holes in the back of his head and ignored them in face of what's to come.

Alistair entered Hadrian's tent and the warmth of it seeped into his cold body. The flaps fluttered closed behind him and as soon as Hadrian turned to look at him, the inviting warmth seemed to dissipate into a cold chill. Those accusing eyes shocked him by their intensity and the question asked of him really took him aback.

"Do you really not remember any of last night?" Alistair could see the jaw clench tightly with tension and those azure eyes were sharp and cutting. Regus whimpered at his master's side and he bumped his head against Hadrian's thigh.

"Errm...maybe not the important parts," Alistair said hesitantly, unsure of whether to joke to deflect the awkward tension between them or to be truthful. The dubious response caused the man to scowl and the Templar chided himself for taking the jesting way out of an awkward conversation. It had always worked with everyone else, even Duncan sometimes.

"Alistair," the Warden Commander said in a hard tone, "I know you're raised by flying dogs and whatnot, but there is no way in the Maker's Pits you don't remember giving me this."

He pulled down his tunic and Alistair's eyes, despite having seen it once before, still widened in shock at the horrible mark that marred the man's wonderful throat.

**Bite him. Claim him as ours...** That deep voice intoned to him from the past. Hadrian's passionate cries from the night echoed in Alistair's mind, almost drowning out everything else until a firm hand clasped him on the shoulder. He jumped slightly and found himself staring into Hadrian's concerned eyes that had a hint of sadness in them. For him not remembering, perhaps? Or for Hadrian being claimed so unwillingly? Or maybe willingly?

"Alistair," Hadrian whispered to him in a surprisingly soft tone.

The Cousland wasn't mad _at_ his friend. He was just angry, no, he was livid for having this situation forced upon them.

_**/Alistair has been marked already by our High Lord. If he doesn't claim his position as Alpha, as your Alpha, then the mark will burn him. Such a mortal is not meant to be claimed like that. It can only be diffused by another claim of such a creature./**_

_Like me? But I'm just a human._

_**/Your family has never been human.../**_

_Why did you pick him? Why him? Why not someone else?_

_**/The Maker Himself chose him for this task and All obey the Maker's will./**_

Zarieth's answers infuriated him even more until eventually he just stalked off, leaving a perplexed Warden and sympathetic wolves behind.

It was as if the Maker was almost forcing them to join. Was Alistair hypnotized last night without his knowledge? Hadrian muttered a curse underneath his breath, his frustration growing. As much as he started liking Alistair, perhaps viewing him more than a friend, he did not relish in the idea that the Maker was, so to speak, loaning his body to Alistair. What happened if Alistair had gone further than expected?

He took another good look at his friend and found himself to be aroused simply by looking at his friend's muscled body, the broad shoulders and chest tapering to a strong waist and long legs. The tempting heat radiated through his clothes and those full lips set beautifully underneath that straight nose.

The Cousland was so absorbed in his thoughts, he failed to realize that he had stepped even closer to the man, where their breaths mingled hotly in the cool morning air. Seeing the Templar's face this close, Hadrian could clearly see the dark depths of those brown eyes and was drawn to the intensity of them.

"Perhaps if you couldn't remember, then it wasn't really important," Hadrian murmured quietly, all too aware of the knight's burning gaze in response. The shorter man petted Regus on the head once before making an attempt to move past the knight. He was successful at first until a hand darted out to grip his elbow.

"Alistair? What's -ompfh!" Hadrian's question was interrupted by a firm yank, until he collided against an armored chest. The cool metal of his breastplate felt blessedly good against his chest and even through the thick armor, he could hear the soft thuds of Alistair's heartbeats.

Regus made a soft whine at first, trying to figure out whether Alistair's action was prompted by a more sinister purpose, before finally barking happily. A long, dark red tongue lolled out of the side of his jaws and he took a sentry position at the tent opening, ensuring that no one else would come in without his master's acknowledgement.

Alistair barely registered the Mabari move, his attention entirely captured by the silver-haired beauty leaning against him. He heard a soft sigh of relief before his friend simply relaxed against him, boneless and entirely trusting of his fellow Warden.

A wonderful scent of mint and something slightly musky underneath drifted upwards into his nose. His friend's smell taunted his olfactory senses and arousal stirred deep within his loins, causing him to growl deeply in his throat.

Apparently, Hadrian must have heard the throaty growl for the older Warden pulled back, only to look at up him with a heated gaze. Alistair grabbed hold of his chin and gently but firmly pressed their lips together.

It was as if that kiss alone was the trigger to release a mental hold on the memories of the night before. Flashes of images flickered in his mind's eye. Hadrian's pale skin, his sweaty locks. The silvery moonlight that shone down upon them contrasted sharply with the blood welling up from a wound that he had caused. Then the images following that were hazy and only started to clear up at a sound of amusement coming from the tent's entrance.

"Well, I probably should have shouted first, right me boy?" That familiar dwarven voice cause both of them to jump and shocked eyes locked unto a blushing dwarf merchant, who was holding two cups of soup. Steam rolled off the top and there was an aroma of seasonal herbs and chicken wafting in the tent. Even Regus approved of the smell and was currently getting dangerously close to lapping up the soup before Bodahn shouted at him harshly. "No! No, Regus!"

Regus whimpered pitifully when the little dwarf used his foot to block the Mabari, having remarkable balance for a being so stocky and short. The hound let out a sound of frustration and then defeat as Bodahn pushed harder, forcing Regus away from the bowls of food.

Once the Mabari went away, head bowed in defeat, Bodahn grumbled something about spoiled hounds before clearing his throat and finally taking in the scene of two men wrapped in a clearly intimate embrace.

The Wardens saw their merchant blush faintly before politely stepping back out and heard him shout out that their bowls would be by their usual sitting spots, with Regus chained very far away from them. A pained whimper could be heard in response and then an exquisite sound burst in the tent. It was laughter, rich in timbre and light in tone. Alistair realized with a shock that he had never heard his older counterpart laugh like that. He heard him emit various sounds: a growl of frustration, a sarcastic chuckle, and pained moans. But never had he heard him laugh like that before. It made him smile warmly at the still laughing man in his arms. However, it seemed as if the dwarf's entrance brought some sense into the other man for Hadrian pulled himself out of his embrace, albeit rather reluctantly.

Alistair moaned at the loss of that wondrous heat. Hadrian, for his part, gave him a deep look and cupped his cheek in one hand. There was a hopeful sparkle in those cerulean orbs and Alistair found himself being tugged forward, only to feel a pair of chapped lips brush with his.

The kiss wasn't intense but it seemed as if his very soul burned with desire. Feelings of closeted desire, of pure longing for this man, shoved those doors open, doors once closed due to the teachings of the Chantry. /_It is a sin to the Maker to indulge yourself in bodily desires./_ The Revered Mother's frail voice spoke to him but for once, just this once, Alistair the Grey Warden pushed aside her teachings. He had longed to experience the here and now, to feel the joys of _being_ human, the joys of being wanted.

"I don't know if this is what you really want," Hadrian whispered against his lips. "But, perhaps in time, we'll know for sure."

For an inexplicable reason, the last statement was both sad and uplifting at the same time. Sad because it meant that Hadrian didn't believe that his motives were genuine, that the only reason why he took care of him last night was due to the influence of being the Alpha. In spite of that uncertainty though, Alistair felt hopeful because Hadrian was willing to give him a chance to prove him wrong, to show him that he really did care for the Cousland.

No more was said between them. As the two Wardens walked into the daylight, they both made silent vows. Alistair vowed that he would everything in his power to make his friend happy, to have him be his. Hadrian vowed that though he hated the fact that Alistair was being forced into this, he would support him in every way, even if it meant setting aside his noble pride and submit.

**-TBC-**

Please, please review! I probably don't deserve it considering that I haven't updated for more than a month and the shortness of this chappie, but a review always makes my day!

What happens next: The Hawkes arrived safely in Kirkwall only to stumble into another problem: Uncle Gamlen! Also, what will Loren do when he is confronted with ghosts of the future and figures of the past?


	36. Just Passing Through

**Chapter 36: Just Passing Through**

The trip to Kirkwall was thankfully uneventful. To make their way into Kirkwall, however, was a different story.

The ship the group was in docked at a dismal-looking port and Anders felt a shiver go up his spine at the sight of the bronze statures hunched over in unseen despair and misery. He had heard the stories of this particular place and wondered what on earth Arren's mother was thinking when she wanted to come here. Kirkwall was known for being the power of the east for the Templars. That kind of power came at a cost, however, and already, when he stepped foot unto the ledge at the ship's side, he could feel the heavy depression of the city's denizens.

The port was largely crowded and Anders was not surprised to see so many of his fellow Fereldens all piled up near the gated entrance, with a guard standing and attempting to hold the growing crowd back.

A soft, pained groan drew his attention away from the mob of people and Anders peered down at his unconscious charge. He healed what he could and the bleeding stopped within a candlelight of being on the ship. He was glad that Arren was asleep or unconscious, for the rocking of the ship would have surely made him ill. His stomach rebelled at the sounds of the other Fereldens and foreigners retching in the cargo. Anders swore that his clothes would reek of the ship's mildew and of the refugees' vomits.

"Let me carry him, mage," Carver suggested in a careful manner. "My brother's heavy even when he's awake." Anders' arms involuntarily tightened around his patient, unwilling to part with this man.

"Carver, his name is Anders," Bethany sighed in expaseration. Anders couldn't but smile at the gentle banter between the twins. The weight of Arren was getting rather heavy and Anders' arms trembled underneath the limp body.

Carver didn't give him a chance to say 'no, I've got him' and gathered his brother in his arms, but with a tenderness rarely shown by the curt younger brother. Arren's brows furrowed at the jostle, no matter how gentle it was and he moaned. Carver's eyes, hard as diamonds when looking at Anders, softened immediately in concern. Both Bethany and the mother of the trio made soothing caresses on Arren's face, trying to ease him back into slumber.

Anders desperately wanted to heal this man, to soothe away his hurt and ease the furrowing of those dark brows. Unfortunately, knowing that the Gallows would be the last place to show that you're a mage, both Anders and Bethany restrained their need to heal Arren.

"Come one, we have to get him somewhere safe," Anders suggested finally. He didn't feel comfortable staying in this place. Even without having to look up at the people around them, he could feel the heavy stares of the Templars, who watched from afar with a suspcious eye. He wasn't the only to feel like this and Bethany trembled slightly, unconsciously getting closer to Anders

"Look," the mother said, her eyes locked unto a scene where the guards were slowly letting people in. "I think they're finally letting them in now. We should join them and see if we can find Uncle Gamlen."

"Yes. Let's hope he received your letter," Carver replied, but his tone indicated that he wasn't particularly looking forward to meeting this Gamlen.

The group of four made their way to the gates and unlike the rest of the Fereldens let in, the guard stopped them, raking a suspicious eye over them and his eyes strayed a little too long on the three mages, noting their loose robes and the covered staffs that were strapped to their backs.

"What's this? You mages or something?"

Anders' hands itched with nervousness. He wanted to say 'yes, we're mages, please don't report us' but the older woman stepped forward, saying, "We're in dire need of help. My son, he's badly injured. Please, he needs a healer." The pleading tone was honest and the frown lines on the guard's forehead smoothed away in pure concern.

"I apologize, milady," the guard bowed his head once and allowed them inside, blocking those that followed them.

"That was close," Bethany whispered to Anders once they were out of earshot.

"We need to get to Gamlen," the mother pushed onwards, her children plus one in tow behind her. They joined all the other Fereldens who were massed in the large area of the Gallows. Both Bethany and Anders took notice of the hunched statues, with their hands covering the faces. Neither had commented on that disturbing observation but they walked a little bit closer together, relishing in the support of the other's proximity.

The group found Gamlen waiting for them by the gates and Anders immediately disliked the man. It wasn't because of the tattered rags the man was in that made Anders upset. The healer had seen his fair share of those who had to make do by surviving just on a daily basis and fashion was not considered high priority to the peasants and the unfortunates. It was in the way he slouched against the wall, how he greeted them with a 'it's about time you got here!' in that nasal tone of his that got on the healer's nerves. Gamlen's obvious irritation at their late arrival didn't lessen at the sight of Arren's supine form being cradled in Carver's arms. On the contrary, he looked even more annoyed or exasperated at best.

"Leandra? What happened? I was not expecting this."

Leandra's perturbed expression told Anders that the way her brother expressed his concern was unsettling and she stepped back from his hug, her eyes slightly downcast and misty. However, she did not cry and Anders had to give her credit for appearing strong, even in front of her brother.

"He needs help, Gamlen. Please," her tone was pleading and Gamlen, despite his previous annoyance with her, just sighed and, like the guard, seemed to be taken in by her.

"I really don't have time for this, Leandra, but, alright. Just don't say anything when we get home."

If Leandra had anything to say about that particular sentence, she kept her tongue, although with great effort Anders noticed, especially when they were led through the opulent parts of Kirkwall and into the dirty part of Lowtown. The way she gazed longingly at one particular estate did not escape Anders' notice.

When they all settled into the dingy shack of two rooms, Carver immediately placed his brother on the only cot that was available to them. Anders' training as a healer immediately took over and he kicked everybody out except for the youngest brother. The blonde mage didn't want his mother to see the true extent of his patient's injuries and her distress would only distract him even further. Thus, he sent her out, along with Bethany, to keep Uncle Gamlen company. He tried to shoo out the Mabari too, but the way it stared at Anders told the healer that he wasn't going to move at all.

_Arren's a mess_ was Anders' first thought as he and Carver undressed the unconscious man, occasionally drawing out a soft moan from him. Anders murmured something softly to him, the fingertips caressing the pale cheeks with care. This small display of affection unnerved Carver, but he kept his mouth shut for once. What disturbed the brunette even more was how easily Arren relaxed in the mage's presence.

When their patient was finally in his small undergarments, Anders gave them to Carver, whose eyes softened at how bloody the upper tunic was. The offensive item was damp and the smell of copper wafted into Carver's nose, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. Carver was disgusted with the sight of his brother's blood. It only reminded him that he couldn't save his older brother. Sure, they may have strong disagreements over topics of magic and the Chantry, but blood was blood.

Carver had always viewed his brother as an invincible figure of magic, untouched by worldly hurts and corruption. Well, perhaps he shouldn't mention the latter part to the healer. Blood magic was in of itself a death sentence and he didn't want to scare away their only healer. _**You must never tell anyone of this...swear it on our family's honor..**__._His brother's voice warned him.

"Carver? Are you ok? Are you injured too?" Carver numbly shook his head and before the mage could get up and check, he stepped out of the room, leaving only Arren and the healer in one room. _Everyone'll find out, Arren. They always find out._

Anders thought Carver was acting a bit strange, but perhaps it was due to the shock from recent events. When he came back, his face had more colour to it and his eyes didn't look as haunted as they were previously.

"I brought some lyrium potions with me," Carver said, and he reached into the small pack he had on his person. Anders graciously accepted it and he steeled himself before consuming the blue liquid. It burned like fire down his throat and he marveled at the fact that this burning sensation was always the same whenever he would take some lyrium.

"That's the same look my siblings would have whenever they had to take some," Carver's voice almost sounded bitter and Anders opened his eyes, only to see a fierce scowl on that broad face. "They couldn't buy any when we were in Lothering. Otherwise it would have alerted all the Templars stationed there."

It sounded like Carver wanted to go on, but he didn't and neither did Anders push him to. There was an awkward silence and Anders chose not to break it with some smartass comment he would always have on hand. Instead, he merely knelt at Arren's side, positioning his hands appropriately over his patient: a hand on the forehead and another on the stomach.

His eyes closed and his thoughts centered on himself and his patient. Everything else was shut out. There was only the quiet and the dark. Only him and his patient who had saved his life more than he could say.

_**He's the one. He is strong for us...our beloved...**_A voice growled from within and it startled the mage. His eyes snapped open, but there was nothing else that he could see. Only the gentle darkness.

Was he imagining things again? _Focus, Anders...focus on your patient here._ Anders didn't know if that was his own thoughts or maybe that crazy voice that had been talking to him ever since his escape from the Tower again. He hesitantly pulled on his magic, wary that the voice might return. When it didn't, he exhaled and then commenced drawing on his personal reserves of magic.

He never tired of how the magic seeped into his very bones, tingled at his fingertips and then gently flowed out to the world. It was a warm sensation, as if the sun's rays were shining down upon him and he felt at peace.

The blue strands of his magic weaved outward, like fingers stretching out to a loved one, and wrapped themselves around his patient's golden aura. It was a strange thing to Anders to find someone with this shade. Why was it golden and not blue like a mage? He hesitantly reached out for it and gasped when the tendrils weaved themselves around his own almost lovingly.

The way they caressed over his own sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine and he truly hoped that he wasn't giving any physical evidence of his arousal. The golden strands then did something very strange. They began to merge with his own and the mage gasped as the colour changed into a dark indigo. Just like before, the merging burned his mind and he let out a scream, unwittingly scaring Carver and everybody else.

Images of Hawke as a four year-old taking care of the twins, as a four year-old having come early in his magic abilities. The father's regret, the mother's despair. He could all feel it through this man who had rescued him so fortuitously from the Templars. In Arren's mind, he saw the village of Lothering and felt the hope that perhaps they could finally settle down, despite the presence of a chantry and its Templars. The same hope that gave way to a doomed realization that with Ostagar being overrun, Lothering would have to be left behind. It would just be a name of the many places the Hawkes have made a temporary settlement.

Another vision of him appeared before him, of a handsome blond mage crying out for help. He never thought of himself as a damsel in distress, but the way Arren saw it, he indeed was and that made him blush.

The burning sensation from before soon calmed until it became soothing and deliciously cool to the mage. He had never imagined he could feel this strongly about his rescuer. This strange and profound connection he had developed with him. It made him want to protect Arren, to soothe his hurts from having to run away so many times, to protect his family from both the Templars and other worldly predators. _**Protect my son, Anders as he has protected you.**_Another voice spoke out, this one sounding older and wiser.

He reached out and wrapped around the thinning indigo strands, willing them to strengthen themselves and connect with his own. Once they did, he heard a shrill cry of triumph and relief, one that sounded strangely like that of a hawk, a noble bird of prey that was the symbol of the Anders themselves. A sense of belonging rushed through him and he felt elated at finally having found his reason for living now, for tolerating the abuse of the Templars, of life itself.

Suddenly, exhaustion seeped into the crevices of his mind and, for once, he gave himself up to the sleep that hovered gently, knowing that this time, Arren will keep him from harm in the Fade...

-TBC-

Author's notes: Hello there! So sorry for the long update! This chapter was actually kind of difficult to write, considering how long it's been since my last update (looking very sheepish and apologetic). To all who left reviews, thank you so much! I always look forward to reading them. Also, as promised, the 150 fiftieth reviewer is: **YoshisSuppport!** Yay! Yoshi, if you are reading this, just pm whatever pairing in Dragon Age world you want to see in a short story and I'll get started on it right away!

Ok, onto to the next chapter!

Oh, and on a sidenote: Zevran won the poll! Rejoice all fans of Fergus/Zevran. For those who were wanting a Fergus/Leliana, sorry folks but the majority have won. But perhaps, as a consolation prize, she is willing to be a surrogate mother for the child...any objections?


	37. Fevered Dreams

**Chapter 37: Fevered Dreams**

Carver kept watch over the sleeping pair, his brown eyes lingering more on the blonde stranger than his unconscious brother.

Only a few candlelights ago, a sudden scream prompted him to barge into the room, followed by his mother and Bethany. Thinking that his brother was getting hurt by the healer, he had brought his smaller dirk with him as the room's size greatly limited his use of a two-handed sword that he usually carries.

What greeted him and the others greatly troubled them. The healer was grabbing at his head with both hands, his eyes tightly shut while Arren arched upwards in the poor, makeshift bed. They were surrounded by a purple haze and this time, Carver knew that he wasn't just seeing things.

Hovering above them was a large creature that had rarely been seen since the days of the fourth Blight.

"A Gryphon? But how?" Bethany whispered in awe.

As if aware of the intruders, the Gryphon turned to face them and there was another shriek before it disappeared altogether, leaving behind two unconscious men.

Bethany had rushed in then, unheeding of a possibility that the spirit or demon or whatever had shown itself to them could return at any moment, and Carver _felt_ her spell come into existence. The air stirred with magical energies until she focused it on the two men that now lay motionlessly on the bed.

"Bethany?" It was his mother that asked the question, in a nervous tone.

"They're ok, just sleeping, but I've a feeling we're not supposed to separate them," Bethany concluded and her hand pointed to the purple aura that covered them both. Carver didn't know what to make of this and neither did their mother. Only Bethany felt immediate joy at this strange reunion for she knew that her brother had found someone at last. She could tell by the furtive glances they stole at each other before the Templar incident in Amaranthine that there was indeed a strong attraction between the two mages.

When Arren was awake and coherent, she'll have to talk to him about it.

Carver, on the other hand, was highly suspicious of the blonde mage's intent and it was the reason now why he guarded the pair so closely and with a wary eye. It's not that he didn't trust his brother. He didn't trust this blonde mage who they happened to stumble into on their way into Amaranthine. _Stupid brother. It's his fault we're in this situation._

As if sensing his frustration, Arren shifted restlessly and made a noise of discontent, the brows furrowing in pain. Carver sit up in his seat and he bent over his brother, blue eyes fixed on his pale face. Arren gave no sign of waking up, however, and Carver sighed. He brushed back a couple of errant hairs from the pale forehead and then sat back on the rickety wooden stool. This was going to be a very long night.

-o0o-

"_Cullen..." His charge whispered brokenly to him, his hands bound behind his back and there was blood dripping off the side of his face. The disheveled hair, the naked body would have undoubtedly aroused the named Templar were it not for the unique situation they were in. It was a different man this time and Cullen was even more shocked this time that it was one of their Knight-Captains who prowled around the mage like a predator awaiting to devour its prey._

"_See, Cullen, mages aren't so powerful with their hands bound. They can only do so much until either they lose themselves to the demons or are strong willed enough to embrace even this type of humiliation."_

_The Knight-Captain leered at the bound mage and then shoved him backwards. Loren struggled uselessly, his screams tearing out of his throat. There was a tsking sound and the Knight-Captain backhanded the mage hard, causing his victim's head to snap back and strike the stoned ground. The sounds of pain halted and it brought Cullen out of shock. He watched the Knight-Captain unbuckle the clasps of his trousers and saw him lean forward._

_No! It can't happen again! I won't let it! It felt as if someone was pulling out his sword, someone else walking forward and strike the Knight-Captain in the heart, where it was most corrupted. His superior emitted a surprised gasp, as if in disbelief that one of his own subordinates would dare attack him. He turned his head, to regard Cullen with shock before slumping forward unto the mage._

"_Dear Maker! What the-? What happened?" Another voice cried out and Cullen's sword clattered unto the ground. It was one of the senior Enchanters, he forgot the name already, who had discovered this and the man scrambled forward, to put a shaking hand on Loren's neck. The newcomer didn't even flinch at the dead Templar that lay between the unconscious mage's legs. He merely took one glance at the man and shook his head ruefully._

"_Please, ser Cullen," the Senior Enchanter asked, "help me get this off him." The male mage vainly tried to push the dead Knight-Captain off but the body was a dead weight and too heavy for a man who was kept in the Tower all his life. Cullen grabbed around the man's torso and pulled his former superior off, well aware that he was dead and that Loren was still. Did that strike hurt his head worse than he thought? He shoved the man aside rather roughly and a shaking hand reached out to cup the mage's cheek. The warmth of the soft skin beneath his hand eased the fear in his heart._

"_Don't touch him! He may not...he may be averse to any human contact now..." The male mage grabbed his hand and pulled it away. "I must report this to First Enchanter Irving, but first let's tend to him."_

_That horrific scene faded before Cullen's eyes and again, he saw his charge standing before, a gentle smile gracing those handsome features. When had he fallen for this man? This is wrong! He shouldn't be feeling this way for a mage of all things! But, this ache inside his chest, of the thought that he may have to end this man's life if the Harrowing failed,clearly told him that his feelings for Loren were more than just of the friendly kind. _

"_Cullen." That soft, low voice beckoned him to look at its owner and already, Cullen found himself drowning in those emerald jewels. "Should I fail, I want you to..."_

"_No, I..." A slender finger quietened his protests and there was a soft peck on the cheek, causing Cullen to blush._

"_I just want to say thank-you for being there. I know most Templars aren't like you and I..." the mage stopped and he looked away. Cullen missed looking into those green eyes and he cupped Loren's cheek in a gauntled hand, gently turning the mage back to him. "Well, I really appreciate it...more than I can say."_

_Loren walked even closer to Cullen and their lips were a mere breadth away from each other. "Maybe, after I come back, we can talk later?"_

_It was a hopeful promise, one that came true but was cut dreadfully short by the actions of Jowan...Jowan, the blood mage, Jowan the person responsible for having taken away his chance to know Loren as more than a mage...more like a lover._

"_I'll see you soon, Cullen. Head for Redcliffe...I'll be here waiting..."_

"Redcliffe...Loren...must...head to Redcliffe..." the Templar moaned in his sleep, tossing and turning in his makeshift cot. Wynne dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth and she tsked at at the rising heat.

The elder mage had hoped that Cullen wouldn't catch a fever. However, considering the horrific ordeals her patient underwent, it came of no surprise that he would be thrashing around for two weeks straight. Nightmares like his certainly won't go away that fast and she became concerned that he might never recover from this. A templar was an evil necessity, Wynne believed, but a fearful Templar was not a good combination, especially when that said person was to be in constant company with mages.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention away from where her thoughts were going. There, standing in the entrance of her tent, was the de factor leader of this ragtag group. He looked weary and she could see the dark circles underneath his eyes. Apparently, he wasn't sleeping well either.

Behind him stood another man, a handsome blonde. His features were uncharacteristically noble; the high cheekbones, the wide jaw and those piercing brown eyes. Compared to those of the Cousland, there were more laughing lines around the eyes and the lips. His posture was light and straightened, as if free of the secular burdens. She had noticed that he was hovering quite closely to Hadrian, invading personal space than what was proper.

The Cousland knelt across from her and his brows furrowed at the nonsensical litany of names. "How is he, Wynne? Has he been like this since we came back that night?"

He didn't have to explain to her which "night" it was. It was the night when he had finally succumbed to the Antivan poison coursing through his veins and nearly died as well. The next morning, the pair had come back, with no visible injuries and not even a hint of fever. When Wynne made a quiet inquiry to Leliana about this, the redhead merely shrugged her shoulders and replied, "perhaps the Maker healed them."

"Wynne?" Hadrian asked again, waiting patiently for her diagnosis.

"He'll get better, in time. However, Morrigan and I should be wary in our approach to him. Any sight of a mage would undoubtedly refreshen his memories and I worry that her particular mannerisms would either scare him off or commit him into doing something stupid."

"Really? That's too bad. I was hoping Morrigan would use him as a target for her jokes," Alistair said and he suddenly let out a soft yelp of pain. Hadrian glared at him and Alistair immediately looked chagrined. "It was a joke, alright."

"I think it best that I stay here until he awakens and is more coherent of his surrroundings," the older mage suggested and Hadrian's shoulders tensed. If Wynne wanted to stay, then they would be one short of a mage in his party of four companions. To make it worse, Morrigan wasn't much of healer, knowing only the basic healing and regeneration spells; sometimes, those hurt worse than the injuries. However, Hadrian truly didn't want to risk in the Templar turning wild in his group. Seeing a familiar face should ground him into reality.

"That's fine, Wynne," Hadrian said and he stood up, with Alistair following suit. "We're going to check up that fortress in the north."

"Fortress?" Wynne asked. She had never heard of this before.

"I talked to a Levi Dryden here a few days ago. He mentioned a Soldier's peak, a former Grey Warden stronghold. May have some answers or advice on our situation. We're going right about now in fact. In the meantime, stay here and watch over him. If he's Loren's friend, then he must be a good man to have."

Having said that, Hadrian promptly left the tent and Alistair was just about to step out when Wynne called out his name.

"Alistair, be sure to look out for him. He seems troubled and I fear that the poison didn't entirely leave his person."

The blonde Warden's lips pursed tightly but he gave no further elucidation on his thoughts. "Nothing will harm him," he said fiercely, almost growling at her.

"I know," Wynne replied in a placating tone. "Just be careful, please. I really can't afford to have another repeat of that night's incident."

Alistair nodded in agreement and he disappeared behind the flap, the footsteps fading away in time.

The elderly mage sighed and she set her hands on her charge. _I'm getting too old for this..._

-TBC-


	38. So the Dead Can Talk

Chapter 38: So the Dead Can Talk

The textbooks' description of Soldier's Peak severely underestimated its grandeur and strength. Alistair himself was struck speechless when confronted with the sheer immensity of the Grey Wardens' Fortress in the north. However, his speechlessness didn't last long and Hadrian could tell that his friend clearly wanted to say something.

"By the Maker, this place is just…just…"

"Another thing that strikes Alistair speechless – women and fortresses. What next, flying dogs?" Zevran scoffed at the soldier who was gawking at the sight of Soldiers Peak with his jaw hanging open. The Assassin was very observant of his surroundings but he failed to see the wry glances shared between the Grey Wardens and the elf was not amused at the sudden laughter that expelled from the both of them.

"And just what is so funny, Grey Wardens?"

"Ah, nothing. Just nothing, Zevran." Hadrian said in between his laughter. Wynne just gave one big sigh and Levi had wandered ahead, eager to lead his friends on into the fortress. Seeing the seriousness of the situation, Hadrian and Alistair composed themselves.

As soon as they passed through the gate, everybody felt woozy and the image of the fortress waved in front of them, only to dissolve in figures clad in heavy armour with the insignia of a red boar etched on their chests. A young soldier cried out to another man, who was barking an order to the other soldiers.

"Commander, we can't get in. The Wardens have barred all entrances!"

"We gave them the chance to honour themselves by fighting us in open battle. Now, they seek to lock themselves away like the cowards that they really are!"

"But, my Lord, the Fortress has enough supplies to last for a year!"

"All the more reason to hit them hard and now. They'll pay for rebelling against the King."

"Yes, milord."

The blonde soldier saluted by placing a hand on his chest and then headed off to the left, shouting out for a new weapon and shield. The illusion wavered again and the group found themselves facing the snowy slopes of the inner keep, only this time there were no soldiers walking about. A slight chill crept up Hadrian's spine and he wasn't the only one to feel so spooked.

The man in front of him wheezed a couple of times before looking at him, with wide eyes.

"Did you see that? I felt, it felt as if it was real. Maybe I'm just dreaming."

Not trusting his voice to hitch, Hadrian just nodded to agree with the guide. They cautiously made their way into the inner keep, weapons at the ready. It wasn't long for enemies to show up but when they did, everybody was horrified, even Zevran, an assassin long used to seeing dead people. After some time spent in dispatching their foes, the group walked up the long stairs and finally entered the infamous fortress.

-o0o-

The inside of the Keep was in an unkempt condition, as if somebody forgot to clean up the mess after the battle. Books were strewn all over the place and the furniture pieces were sprawled across the rooms, generally in broken pieces. The group encountered more than their share of the undead and ghostly visions of the past. However, what was more disturbing was the confrontation with Sophia Dryden herself.

Hadrian couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the Warden Commander standing in front of a picture. Sadly, the hope of finding answers to Levi's questions as well as to what exactly happened here was dashed when the figure turned around and laid its dark eyes on the group. Sophia's face was decaying in some places, but her body was kept wholesome in a way and Hadrian had a sickening feeling of why.

"This one would speak with you, Grey Wardens." It spoke but with the voices of many.

"Sophia Dryden?" Hadrian asked of it, she, or whatever it is now.

The corpse smiled in recognition, but it lacked the warmth and friendliness.

"Yes, we are," it replied and the figure slowly walked towards them. Alistair immediately brought out his sword and shield in response to a possible threat but Hadrian stayed his hand.

"Let her speak," Hadrian commanded his friend calmly, although inside he either wanted to cut off her head or run away from this haunted place. There was a dry laugh and the sounds made him want to see his breakfast again.

"It appears that the Grey Wardens have not lost their leadership, despite of what transpired here."

"Great-Grandmother?" Levi asked, his eyes held in disbelief at that this monster couldn't possibly be his famous ancestor.

"Sophia's essence is no longer here. However, her memories stay and tantalize me of the world out there, outside of this damnable fortress. If you want answers, Levi Dryden, release me."

Hadrian was sick and tired of these games, of being offered a deal that clearly had a catch to it. Levi wanted answers but the Cousland had a feeling his guide did not want them to be answered in this way. Additionally, if unleashed in this world, the demon could wreak untold havoc and it would be his fault. His fault, again. Just like it was his fault to abandon his parents in his home. He regarded the demon again and denied her request, which resulted in anger and ensued another fight.

-o0o-

"I'm sorry, Levi," Hadrian said as he pulled his sword out of Sophia's body. It slid sickeningly off the blade, the black bits of flesh still hanging unto the edges of it. Hadrian grimaced and, after ensuring that his companions were nowhere close to him, whipped the weapon to the side.

"I would appreciate it if you desist in cleaning your weapons that way," Morrigan grumbled, the flesh having narrowly missed her cheek.

"It didn't hit you," Hadrian said blandly and he put the sword back into its scabbard.

"Maker, I…I can't believe this," the blonde Dryden shook his head ruefully, still in shock at the gruesome sight of his long dead Grandmother.

"She mentioned something about a tower," Alistair pointed out, hoping to refocus the group. Hadrian nodded in agreement and they all piled out of the room, hoping that the corpse of Sophia Dryden would be the last frightening revelation of this cursed place.

Unfortunately, it was at the Tower, that there was something perhaps devious than Sophia herself. Hadrian had expected to see Avernus' body reborn, just like the other dead Wardens they fought on the previous floors. He even expected to see his dead corpse standing and talking to them, as if nothing happened.

What the Cousland did _not_ expect was to be informed of his family's history.

"My family rebelled against the King?" Hadrian asked, stunned to hear that his family, every the royalists, betrayed the Ferelden monarchy.

Avernus' eyes narrowed at the question and then realization dawned on that aged face, the wrinkles slightly smoothing out.

"Ah yes," the mage said, "I can feel your heritage inside you, boy. Yes, the Couslands were our most fervent supporters; sadly, the head of their teryn on the table and the execution of almost the entire household discouraged any further support. Arland was quite ruthless."

"Just tell us how to close the veil," Hadrian growled in response. He didn't want to be reminded of his family's deaths, especially by a monstrous Grey Warden who sacrificed his own comrades for magical research.

"The circles need to be unraveled and I will need your help. All I ask is to prolong your sentence of me until afterwards."

It wasn't a plea or a beg. The centuries' old mage had accepted the consequences of his actions and that justice may be meted out to him, whether it be now or later. How ironic it would be if their strongest supporters' descendent had carried out that execution!

"Until then, we are allies," Hadrian promised, allowing the mage to lead them this time, from the tower and to the second floor of the Keep.

-o0o-

Alistair's eyes widened in fear when he saw the Desire Demon grab Hadrian and threw him clear across the room. His friend's body crashed against the wall with a sickening thud and Hadrian slid limply to the side, leaving a horrific red streak on the wall behind him. Hastily bringing up his shield to guard against a flailing rage demon, the Templar brought down his sword and cut off the demon's head. He rushed towards his friend, who was lying on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood and unaware of another demon approaching him as well.

Alistair's heart ached when he realized that the demon was much closer to Hadrian than he was and that he would never be able to reach him in time. Images flashed through his mind. His brother Cailan, Duncan, all the men who died in Ostagar. Even the Grey Wardens that were with Alistair prior to this whole accursed mess were prompting him to save one of the last Wardens in Ferelden. Before he could reach him, the Desire Demon cast a paralysis spell on him but he merely shrugged it off with his shield. The spell bounced back off his shield and hit her, allowing Morrigan to entomb the demon in an icy prison. A terrifying shriek echoed throughout the whole fortress and the Desire Demon shattered into tiny pieces. Muttering underneath her breath about flying remnants of their enemies, Morrigan managed to cast a force field spell on all of them to prevent the pieces from piercing their own bodies. Avernus himself helped out and boosted her powers with his own, much to her chagrin.

It was Zevran who came to the downed man's rescue and Alistair raged at how easily the Assassin dispatched the demon. _No! He's mine to protect! Mine! _Through a red haze, he saw the elf kneel at the Cousland's side, his hands touching his intended.

Zevran, as if he knew exactly what Alistair was thinking about, turned his sharp gaze to the person sitting across from him. However, now was not that time to be arguing with each other. Alistair had to smile when Wynne shoved Zevran away from Hadrian, hastily casting a healing spell on the wounded man.

"Alistair, give me one of those lyrium potions, now." Morrigan barked to the Templar all the while focusing on what injuries she could heal. A cold vial was roughly placed in her hand and she drank its contents. With her mana restored, she could finally heal the worse set of injuries and that was the cracked skull with a punctured lung. Come on, young man! You've been through much worse than this! The mage could sense his struggle for life and something else too. A fear for someone. But who? She didn't want to delve into her friend's personal thoughts and just concentrated on anchoring him to this side of life.

Hadrian coughed up blood and started to moan. His limbs began to thrash around and his struggle soon strengthened, nearly knocking off the dark-haired mage from his side

"Hold him, Alistair!"

Alistair had to hold him down and that was when the other man's eyes opened.

-o0o-

_He was back in the castle again, sleeping in his warm bed when his dog, Regus, started to growl. Scuffling noises could be heard outside his door and there was __something that greatly disturbed him, the screams of agony and fright. The man grabbed his sword that always laid beside his bed, ignoring the other person's soft groans at being awakened so rudely. He cautiously opened the door and found himself facing the hideous visage of the Archdemon himself._

_The quiet setting of his bedroom changed violently to that of a tower, with the din of the battlefield echoing in the background. Suddenly, Hadrian found himself donned in bright golden armour and surrounded by his allies as they try to fight the Archdemon. He was wondering what set them off so badly, what could cause them to screw their faces in concentration and desperate determination. There were only two besides him, not the usual three. Wynne and Morrigan were both casting cold spells on the dragon, working against the dragon's familiar element of fire. Where was the other one, the one who had been at his side for so long?_

_A hoarse shout caught his attention and he turned towards the source of the sound only to see the Archdemon attack Alistair. Almost instinctively, the Wolf of Highever dashed to the dragon and hopped onto its head, narrowly missing a deadly tail swipe. The Archdemon opened its mouth and crushed Alistair's body, not caring that Hadrian was hacking away at the neck. There was a sudden shriek of agony and the Warden couldn't tell if it was him screaming, or Alistair or the Archdemon itself. Apparently, the Archdemon had let go of its victim who fell, lying still underneath the dragon's chest. Just as the Archdemon reared its head back to throw off its attacker, the Warden jumped down, grabbed Alistair and threw him to Wynne, taking the Archdemon's poisoned breath in his stead. It burned his skin and seared his mind like a spear driving itself. He could feel the Archdemon's screams in his head and could hear his allies calling out for him. Before he could do anything, there was unending darkness and a familiar voice crying out to him…_

"Hadrian!"

The young Cousland bolted out of his dreams and noticed that he was in bed, with sweat-drenched sheets cloaked around his body. Someone had taken the time to bandage his chest and lower torso. Unfortunately, blood was bleeding through and Hadrian groaned at the fresh wave of pain pulsing through his chest. He could hear footsteps running towards him and the flaps of the tent were opened, causing the sunlight to burst through the dark space.

"Hadrian!"

The man's eyes, previously closed due to the sun's glare, cautiously opened. There standing in the doorway, was Alistair. Thank the Maker! Hadrian thought as he quickly made a sweep over his friend, glad to see no visible injuries on him.

"Where-?" His voice came out in a weak croak and his upper limbs trembled in the effort of holding himself up.

"Lie back down," Alistair ordered his friend. "We defeated the demons at Soldier's Peak, which is where we are still at. Levi's family is already here and they helped us set camp, although I'm freezing my bloody arse out here."

"The Peak? Levi?"

"Do you remember what happened? Morrigan, our only healer, said that your memory might be shaky after that collision with the wall."

"The Desire demon? Sophia?"

"All gone and before you ask, everyone is here and accounted for. Even your mutt, Regus."

"Geez, you…took the words…right out of my mouth…"

Hadrian's vision was getting rather hazy and Alistair could see that his friend was struggling to stay conscious, to make sure himself that everybody was ok. He laid his friend down and patted him on the shoulder.

"You should sleep. I'll be here."

Hadrian's eyes fluttered a couple of times before finally closing and the man relaxed into much needed rest. It was at this moment that Zevran had come in and the elf stared quizzically at the scene before him.

"Is our lovely Grey Warden better, Alistair? I heard him screaming your name."

"Yeah, well, it's not what it looks like, elf."

"Humph. I was merely stating the obvious and am not insinuating anything, Alistair."

"We are not going to fight over his head. We need Wynne first of all as he's bleeding again."

"Again? Of course, I will get her-"

"There's no need. I am already here," a soft voice interrupted him and the elder mage stepped in the tiny space of the makeshift tent. She stepped down to Hadrian and placed her hands on him, willing the flesh to knit itself together again and for the bleeding to stop.

"Whatever this young man was dreaming of, it must have been intense enough for him to pull on his stitches. Someone should stay with him and ensure he doesn't move around too much. I would cast a paralysis spell on him, but I have little mana left and no lyrium potions either."

"I'll stay," the two chorused together and they glared at each other when they realized that neither wanted to budge. The sight caused the Mage to sigh heavily. This is getting nowhere between those two!

"Alistair, you stay with him. He appears to be more comfortable with you rather than Zevran."

"What? That's not true!" The Dalish Elf protested vehemently, anger flashing in his brown eyes. Wynne regarded him coolly.

"Young man, if you haven't forgotten, it was _you_ who poisoned this man who had saved your life. I may am an old woman, but I am not gullible enough to leave an assassin with Hadrian."

"Fine, have it your way," Zevran left the tent in a huff, leaving a weary Mage and a worried Templar. He should have been happy that the Assassin departed from their view, but the worry of his friend's condition overshadowed it.

"Alistair, keep him safe and warm. I need to rest after today's events."

Alistair nodded and he watched Wynn leave the tent. Then his eyes traveled back to the supine body and saw his friend shiver slightly. It was rather cold outside and Wynne did tell him to keep him warm. She didn't say how however. The templar shed his armor and sidled beside his friend. Gently bringing Hadrian over to his side so that body warmth could be shared, he laid on the blanket that was magically infused with a warmth balm. Hadrian mumbled incoherently and he moved closer to Alistair, his soft breaths brushing the chest hairs. _Hadrian, I...I almost lost you. You gotta stop doing this, you don't have to do this by yourself_.

As if in response, the young man stirred in his arms, his eyes just barely opened and unfocused.

"...Alistair..."

"Sssh. This is just...just another way to share body heat."

"It's ok...I...like it this way..."

Before Alistair could say anything, the man's eyes shut closed and soft breathing could be heard. The elder grey Warden merely held his friend closer and wondered what tomorrow might bring.

-TBC-


	39. Return

**Chapter 39: Return**

Alistair woke to someone mumbling nearby and he instantly bolted up in bed, a dagger in his hand.

"I have not come to murder you, dear Warden," Zevran commented in a mocking tone. "But it is good to see you thought so, no?"

"Leave him alone, Zevran," another said hoarsely. It sounded weak and Alistair saw that Hadrian was already sitting up, his eyes tired but more focused now. Alistair also noticed that Zevran was sitting a little bit too close to his lover, _too_ close.

He unknowingly let out a growl of disapproval, prompting Zevran to stare at him for a long moment before finally turning his attention to the convalescing leader. Hadrian also heard the growl and he fought very hard against the urge to submit to Alistair.

His knuckles clenched tightly in the blanket that covered his naked lower half. When he heard that soft growl again, he almost turned his head to the side when thankfully, Zevran decided to leave them, saying, "it appears that he wants some alone with you, Hadrian. I daresay I won't stop him…"

Whatever Zevran had said after that was lost when the elf left his tent. Almost immediately, Alistair pounced on the other man, his hard body colliding rather roughly against the injured warden.

"Alistair, wha-mfphh!" Hard lips crashed against his and there was a sudden rush of arousal through him, especially when he felt the bulge dig into his thigh. He tried to push the heavier warden back but found that his injuries left him weaker than usual.

Alistair deepened the kiss and all Hadrian could do now was moan as the blonde man explored the sweet depths of his mouth. Soon, breathing became priority and they separated, both having flushed expressions on their faces.

Then, Alistair scowled and he leaned over Hadrian, his lips dangerously close to his ear. "You're mine. If Zevran so much as looks at you funny, I'll kill him."

Before Hadrian could say anything, Wynne had come in. If the sight of two men being closer together than normal bothered her, she made no comment on it. Instead, she smiled almost knowingly and knelt on the opposite side of Alistair, clearly missing the subtle transition of that angry scowl to his now usual jovial look.

"You are looking better," she said. Her hands felt cool against his forehead, but the heat came from what had happened between him and Alistair, not from fever. "But you are still warm. Considering the weather here, I probably should thank Alistair for keeping you warm."

Alistair had the decency to blush and he looked away in embarrassment.

Wynne saw that and she let out a little laugh. "Never mind that. It was good that we were camped not too far away from here. When Morrigan contacted me in my dreams, she bid me to come here as soon as possible."

"But, it was too dangerous for you to come here by yourself!" Hadrian remarked and he visibly winced as his outburst pulled on his wound.

"I didn't come alone," Wynne said, "and you should refrain from shouting, young man." Hadrian nodded in agreement, perhaps the pain too great for him to reply.

"Wynne," a soft, feminine voice called out. There was a sound of a tent flap being opened and Leliana had peeked her head in. Her red hair was white with snow already and her cheeks were paler than usual. Thankfully, her lips weren't blue and she still had her grace as she fully entered the tent, carrying in a large cup of hot soup. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"No," the older mage shook her head as she guided her hands over Hadrian's upper torso. "He needs to eat anyways."

"I think I can speak for myself, Wynne," Hadrian managed to say before saying 'ow!' when her hands clasped around his head, touching only lightly at the back of his skull. Wynne closed her eyes for a moment. Both Alistair and Leliana saw her hands glow and then reverted back to normal. Hadrian groaned and he tried to grab for his temple, only to his hand be swatted by the senior enchanter.

"Maker," Wynne scolded her patient impatiently, "you're intolerable as a patient."

"It's part of my noble charm," Hadrian replied sarcastically. The mage forgave the harsh remark and she looked to Leliana, who offered her the soup.

"Alistair, you feed him," Wynne suddenly said and she stood up, causing all three to look at her in surprise. "I've no more patience for this one. Cullen still needs some healing of his own. Just be sure he eats it all."

"Oh, trust me," Alistair smirked at the glowering man. "He will, by any means necessary."

Leliana giggled at how Alistair's threat was balanced out by the wiggling of the eyebrows. She left with Wynne, the smell of something sweet, like lilies, drifting in their wake. Alistair found the scent to his liking but it was nowhere near as enticing as the one that radiated from the healing Warden. As he scooped the soup into a wooden spoon, he turned his gaze to Hadrian and found that the threat was unfounded after all. Hadrian ate the soup without a fight or a complaint.

"You sure you're ok?" Alistair asked as he spoon-fed him the soup. Hadrian's continued silence bothered him. "Hadrian?"

All he got in reply was soft snoring and Alistair gazed at him tenderly, his fingers stroking back the stray hairs. He was sorely tempted to stay and cuddle with his lover but with everybody else awake, especially that sneaky elf, he couldn't give in. Instead, he merely tucked the blankets around the warm body and giving one last careful glance at the slumbering Cousland, he left the warm confines of their tent.

The blast of cold air and snow almost had him scrambling back to the cozy interior. However, there was work to be done, such as dealing with a now-awake Templar.

From what Wynne had told him earlier, before Hadrian roused from his head injury, Cullen had came awake screaming Loren's name. It had everyone bolt up and grab their weapons, including the elf. Once the source of the scream was identified, however, they all went back to their routine. Sten stood guard, like an impassive stature, at the entrance of their camp. He never shivered and Alistair wondered if perhaps the Qunari's thick grey skin served as a barrier to extreme weathers as well as blades. The dwarves, well, Bodahn cooked more food, using whatever ingredients made available to them. Thank the Maker they had leftover dried meat and herbs before their trip to this freezing area. Leliana skirted the perimeters of the camp, rechecking the traps and ensuring the triggering mechanisms were not faulty or overly sensitive. The screams of a dying animal were not pleasant to wake up to early in the morning. Wynne, if not busy with a patient, which is almost all the time, could be found sitting right outside her tent, crushing some herbs and synthesizing health potions and other various items.

The newcomers, unfortunately, had no duties, whether it be assigned or self-given. Perhaps he should leave that to Hadrian when he gets better.

"Foolish Templar! You even think of smiting me and I will do worse to you than you can imagine!" An angry shout was heard over the din of the camp.

"Morrigan! Stop this nonsense! He's in no shape to deal with a mage such as you," an older voice cried out and Alistair cursed when a bright light came into being, no doubt a spell of Morrigan or Wynne or maybe even the holy smite spell of Cullen.

He literally ran to where they were at and discovered that the bright flash of light, thank the Maker, wasn't from Cullen but from Wynne. Morrigan's furious scowl marred her seductive features and Alistair suddenly burst out laughing, finding her glowering eyes and tightly pursed lips extremely funny to see. Wynne, on the other hand, did not approve of his reaction and she froze him too, more out of annoyance than of any need for protection.

Leliana's silvery laugh was echoed by Sandal's exclamation of 'enchantment!' and Bodahn's good-natured chuckle. Even Sten looked amused, albeit barely. His eyes held an awareness of the situation and there was a slight tilt of his lips to one side.

The paralysis effect dimmed and it left Alistair spluttering, his finger pointing accusingly at Wynne. She just folded her arms across her chest and shook her head, the way a mother would when scolding a child.

"I can't believe-you-"

"And dear Alistair is once again the stupidest member of this group," Morrigan sneered at the fumbling blonde Grey Warden.

Cullen, who was witnessing this strange scene, still saw Morrigan as a very real threat but before he could do anything, Alistair had stepped forward, effectively blocking his view of the dark-haired sorceress.

"Cullen," Alistair whispered softly to him, his eyes peering at him in genuine concern. "It's ok. You're safe."

"A mage, a maleficar!" Cullen started to shake and his hands fumbled at his side, reaching for a sword that wasn't there and for good reason.

"Uhh…well…she's not exactly a maleficar…but she's good, she's with us." Alistair tried to assuage the trembling Templar. Cullen didn't appear to be appeased by that though and Alistair began to think that taking a traumatized Templar was a bad idea now.

"C'me on, let's go back inside, hmm? She won't follow us." Alistair guided a complaint Cullen back to his own tent, well aware of Morrigan being 'guided' by Leliana to the girls' tent. He inwardly laughed at that fact, knowing that Morrigan loathed sharing personal space. However, even her magic wasn't enough to keep the cold out permanently and she knew that survival in the freezing cold meant sharing warmth with another.

With his hand on Cullen's elbow, he steadied his fellow Templar as the other man settled down into the blankets.

"Why are you doing this? Why are mages with us?" Cullen asked, his voice trembling and Alistair had a feeling it wasn't due to the cold.

"Well, Wynne's our number one healer and Morrigan is payment for our timely rescue," Alistair joked, trying to lighten the templar's mood. It only caused Cullen's eyebrows to furrow in confusion, but at least it got his mind off the topic of mages. Speaking of which, Loren was a mage. At least that was what Hadrian had told him. Perhaps saying something about Loren would help refocus Cullen? It couldn't hurt.

"So, Loren's a mage…don't you, you know, dislike him too?" Alistair's innocent question resulted in such a weird reaction that it made Alistair regret his asking in the first place. Cullen's eyes grew so wide that they looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. The man's mouth opened and closed much like a gaping fish and his hands made fists in the blankets.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's alright. I needed..." Cullen sharply inhaled. "I needed to talk about it anyways. Loren, he's…"

There was a pause and the way his cheeks flushed prompted Alistair to think that perhaps Cullen and Loren were more than on friendly terms between a Templar and a mage.

"He's special…he needs me…and it's the reason why I need to go to Redcliffe."

"Redcliffe? How did you know?"

"My dreams…he's in my dreams and he calls me to Redcliffe."

"Dreams? Are you sure it wasn't a demon or something? It-"

"No!" Cullen answered fervently. "I know…I know a demon when I see one…no, he's real, even in my dreams.

"Cullen…" Alistair didn't want to remind the other blonde man of his imprisonment in the Circle. The rants and raving of him, saying that blood mages would tease him by giving him what he desired most in demonic form, would probably not serve a good purpose here.

"Please, Alistair," Cullen beseeched him, his pale hand covering his. "I need to go. He's there and he's in trouble." Beads of sweat developed on his forehead and the body trembled. Wynne was going to kill him if he didn't let Cullen rest. So, not trusting his own voice, Alistair nodded a promise to Cullen, who laid back in his makeshift bed and returned to a much needed slumber.

-TBC-


	40. Reunion

**Chapter 40: Reunion**

"By the Maker, Fergus! I-I-this is indeed an honor, good ser," Teagan stammered his greeting and he was just about to kneel before the surviving Cousland when Fergus stopped him.

"No, please don't do this. Not when we've been friends for a long time, Teagan."

"And this is Loren? Why is he out of the Circle?"

"He rescued me from unruly bandits," Fergus said. It wasn't a lie and Loren should have known better than to expect his childhood friend to lie for him. Fergus' ingrained sense of nobility and chivalry also prevented him from lying, at least outright to close friends and strangers. However, that didn't prevent him from deliberately withholding information.

"It is by the Maker's grace that we have someone who can help us deal with…" Teagan paused, his eyes downcast for the moment before looking back at the pair. "A strange situation."

"Strange?" Fergus' head cocked to one side and Loren stayed silent, his quick mind already sifting through all possible, worst-case scenarios. _Possession, blood mages present in the area…_

"The village, there are strange things occurring at the Castle and there's the walking dead. Some of them were men I knew for a long time, bearing grave wounds that would have killed any normal man or woman."

The young Guerrin's hands were trembling as he told Fegus and Loren the rest of the news. Of Eamon falling ill, the strange occurrences like the Undead, the gray mist that would envelop the entirety of the village itself. It made Redcliffe's denizens extremely frightful. The whole of the village would have been abandoned were it not for the presence of their Bann. His figure provided them hope, but even he could fall so easily to the grips of paranoia and to the corpses that stalked their village at sunset.

By the end of the tale, Fergus' face had paled so much that Loren thought he was going to collapse. He was ready to administer healing energies when he remembered exactly where he was. The Chantry. Although there were practically no Templars, a strange occurrence in of itself, Loren couldn't be too careful and he merely stood closer to the trembling Cousland, to provide support if necessary.

Yet, Teagan gave him a knowing glance and Fergus' colour came back when rejuvenating energies pulsed gently into his being. Loren gave the young Guerrin a smirk. He should have known that he couldn't get anything by Teagan. Unlike his sister-in-law, Teagan was open-minded in regards to magic and it was rumoured that he greatly opposed the Circle, viewing it as little more than a glorified prison to the mages taking residence inside.

Also, the three of them plus Fergus' absent brother were all childhood friends and that friendship had endured all these years of separation and hardships.

"Loren, do not worry about Templars in this Chantry," Teagan's voice was reassuring. His eyes flickered to the guard that had first brought them here and Yevin, having seen the signal to approach them, did so. The blonde Captain stood a little to the left of Teagan, not close enough to intrude on the Bann's private space but close enough to push him back from danger if need be.

"Yevin, see to that Loren is not accosted by anyone of particular concern. I am sure there are many here who could use his healing abilities."

"Yes, messere." Yevin bowed his head respectfully before leading the dark-haired mage to one of the wings, where most of the villagers had convened.

Both Fergus and Teagan watched the pair get swallowed by the sick and the wounded before finally turning their attentions to each other.

"I heard," Teagan stopped. The redhead Bann was unsure on how to comfort the surviving Cousland. "I'm sorry, Fergus. Truly I am. If I had known about this, I would have marched unto Howe's lands myself and slaughter him where he stands."

"No," Fergus rebutted his old friend's suggestion. "He'll be expecting that, if not from me, then from either my brother or my closest supporters, meaning you and a few others."

"Your brother? All the Grey Wardens perished at Ostagar…" The sentence trailed off. Fergus knew what Teagan was trying _not_ to say and he sighed heavily. His family's assassination still bore heavily in his mind. While he most desperately wanted to believe his Oriana's news of his brother's survival, he knew that the odds were indeed stacked against Hadrian. But still, he still had to hope.

There was an awkward silence between the two noblemen before Fergus finally smiled at Teagan. The young Bann returned it with one of his own and he squeezed the elder Cousland's shoulder in a supportive way.

"Come, enough of this. We both have much to do. I'm sure you would love to have a drink, hmm? I'll be here if you need me."

Fergus thanked his friend for being understanding. His eyes grew misty at reminder of his loss and he wanted to leave the place before he lost his composure.

He headed out of the door and, following Teagan's advice on getting a strong drink, started for the tavern.

By the time he got up the hillside, his legs ached from the climb. His body had yet to recover from having traveled so far from Lothering on his feet and by horse. By the Maker, he could really use two drinks let alone one!

He was just about to turn on the left fork of the road when someone had shouted out his name.

"Fergus?" Another voice called out to him from behind and Fergus turned around, to see someone he had never thought he would see again.

There, standing with the sun at their backs, was a group of people, with someone very familiar leading at the forefront. The figure had grown taller since they last saw each other on that fateful night and there was a five o'clock shadow on those tanned cheeks. The most prominent feature was that familiar scent, of the wilds and something more.

His own inner wolf growled when he discovered what that additional scent was. It seemed to have come from that blonde man clad in chainmail armor, with a sword and shield strapped to his back. He successfully forced his bestial nature down, even when the blonde man glared back at him, a challenge clearly seen in those eyes and in his posture. What shocked him even more was that his inner wolf recognized the animal in the other man; it smelled wholly familiar and yet entirely foreign as well, as if this man was a distant cousin he hadn't met yet.

_**He is strong. Do not underestimate him**__. _His inner wolf warned him and the human part nodded in agreement. His little brother always had a knack of getting into the worst of troubles and luckily getting out of them as well. However, Fergus had a feeling that Hadrian was not going to get away from Alistair so easily.

-o0o-

"Maker! It really is you, big brother!" The shorter Cousland practically threw himself into the older brother's arms and prompting several different reactions from his companions. The most amusing one was from the dark-haired Witch, who scoffed at the brotherly display and merely crossed her arms over her bare bosom. Wynne smiled in her motherly way while Zevran made some sort of offhand remark, in an accent that was horrifyingly familiar to Fergus.

"You seem to have a bad habit of throwing yourself at danger, no?" That lilt at the end of the sentence. The way the word 'habit' was said, a tiny emphasis on the "a." It sounded Antivan.

Fergus made a choked sound and Hadrian withdrew himself from his brother's arms, wondering if his brother was too shocked to say anything. The silver-haired younger brother noticed the extremely pale pallor of his brother's face and there was that haunted look in his eyes as they stared at his elven _former_ assassin.

"Fergus, we…" Hadrian began to say but Fergus just brought him closer, wrapping him tightly within his arms. There was a shudder and then there was nothing else that needed to be said. The inner wolves mourned silently within their hosts' body, the reunion bittersweet for it meant that the stories were true. Denial was too strong for Fergus, even when he was visited by his deceased family in his dreams. However, the sight of his younger brother was a brutal confirmation. The only reason why Hadrian would be here is if he was forced to leave.

"You and I, we have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?" Fergus asked his brother.

Hadrian nodded his head and he turned to the others. He didn't comment on how Alistair's eyes bore into his, a question lingering behind those dark, intense brown orbs.

"Alistair, can you take the others to the Chantry? Fergus and I will be here."

"Hadrian," the blonde man started to protest and he took a few steps forward, to edge closer to the pair. Almost immediately, Fergus growled warningly at the approaching, potential danger and Alistair didn't respond verbally. His hand, on the other hand, hovered near the short sword that was buckled around his waist. Luckily Hadrian anticipated this awkward moment and he pushed Alistair back rather roughly, his hand pressing against the cold breastplate.

"Damn it, Alistair. Just do as I say for once! I'm just going to talk to my brother, alright?"

"You have a brother?" came a unison response, from Alistair and Zevran. Hadrian muttered a curse and he knew that he would probably have to explain why he didn't tell anyone of his family.

Alistair's posture suddenly shifted then and his amiable expression took Fergus by surprise.

"I'm Alistair," the blonde man introduced himself, his hand out in front of him. Fergus quirked an eyebrow but he nonetheless shook the man's hand. "Sorry about that…I thought…"

"You thought he was hitting on me," Hadrian made a snarky reply, "now, please, just leave us alone!"

The request came out a little harshly and Fergus saw how hurt Alistair was when the blonde man merely stepped away. The others followed him, including that elf, the one with the Antivan accent. He really wanted to avoid anyone Antivan but his inner wolf disagreed. _**One mate…for life…this one will be right for us…**_

Hadrian caught that heavy stare being focused on the disappearing elf's back and the younger brother sighed heavily, knowing that there was a lot to be relayed to Fergus.

-o0o-

_**He is ours…why are we leaving him?**_ Alistair's inner wolf snarled and the blonde's steps faltered midway in the Chantry's entrance. He risked a backward glance and espied the two brothers walking to the top of the steep hillside. The smell of dirt, oiled armor, of _him_, could never be masked by the other less tantalizing odors. The village stank of human fear, of the stench emitting from those too frightened to go bathe alone in the river that surrounded the Castle of Redcliffe.

If he tried harder, he could almost hear their soft murmurings amidst the din of the village. However, they walked too far up, too far away even for him to hear their voices. What was going on? Why can he suddenly hear their footsteps, smell their armor from such a great distance?

If the inner wolf had an answer, it kept quiet this time. Stupid fickle voice. Always voicing an unwanted opinion and yet never giving him an answer when he needed it.

"Oy there! You're letting in all that cold air!" A man shouted out in a hoarse voice, startling the blonde Warden out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, just admiring the view you know?" Alistair apologized by jesting. He didn't wait for a response and he fully stepped into the Chantry.

The Chantry, at all locations, looked remarkably the same. Even the wings of the Chantry bore the same books, the altar, and everything else. It made Alistair wonder if there was a letter of standardized features sent out to all the Chantry branches in Thedas, at least in Ferelden.

The Altar was predictably in the centre of the Chantry, the marble structure of Andraste surrounded by symmetrical sets of candles, all lit and emitting a sickly sweet aroma, something that made Alistair's stomach churn.

Apparently, he was the only one bothered by the fragrance. The others had already walked on ahead of him. Only Zevran stood slightly in front of him, as if waiting for him or something.

There was a quizzical look on the elf's bronze face, as if he too was bothered by this strange revelation of Hadrian having a brother.

"If I had known Hadrian had a brother, I would have chased after him instead. I wonder how good he looks when bound in rope?"

"Zevran, considering how shocked Hadrian was upon meeting with Fergus, I doubt he is in a mood to be chased," Wynne chided the libidinous elf. Her gray eyes looked at the assassin in motherly disapproval.

"Yes, he was shocked indeed. I didn't even know he had a brother," Leliana commented. The redhead archer gazed at the statue of Andraste, perhaps hoping that it would provide an answer or an explanation to this discovery.

"What do you think they're talking about? If they are both here, then don't you think their parents are missing them? Or…" Alistair's sentence trailed off when he suddenly remembered that snowy night. _It would have been his mother's birthday…_That's what Zarieth had said to him. Then that means…

"I think there's more to them than they let on," Alistair's reply was soft and gentle. Zevran's eyebrows lifted and then understanding alighted in those eyes. The mockery left them and Alistair found out that maybe there was something more to Zevran the Assassin than the elf let on as well.

"Perhaps. But aren't we all hiding from something?" Before Alistair could ask for an explanation to that cryptic message, the elf had already walked away, perhaps bugging the heck out of the older Mage. A smile grew on his face when Wynne turned him down on his offer of placing his head in her bosom.

His smile then was wiped off at a startled cry and he whipped around, his short sword already out and ready to defend himself.

There was Cullen, leaning against the doorway, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Despite the chilly air, the man was obviously sweating underneath his heavy clothes of fur and wool.

"Cullen! What are you doing here? Didn't Wynne tell you to stay at the camp, with Sten and the dwarves?"

Cullen's head shook and the sick Templar regretted his action. He let out a low moan and pitched forward. Alistair was ready to catch him but was shoved rather rudely to the side. The blonde Warden recovered quickly but his angry retort died when he saw a dark-haired stranger holding Cullen in his arms. There was a soft murmur of a name and Cullen smiled weakly at the stranger, his hand thumbing the man's cheek.

"I found you…Maker…I found you…" Cullen kept saying and the stranger put a finger on the downed man's lips, shushing him.

"Yes, you found me. I'm here now, Cullen, he won't hurt you anymore. I am real." The stranger's words appeared to comfort the exhausted Templar. "I am here…"

"Loren…" Cullen breathed out the man's name and Alistair's heart stuttered to a stop. _Loren? He's here?_

Apparently, he did voice his thoughts and it was echoed by an elderly one too. Wynne stood next to him and the two mages stared at each other. Loren's glare was hard as stone. The dark-haired mage was obviously displeased to see Wynne there and the feeling was mutual when she put her hands on her hips, an ugly scowl overtaking her face.

"I was told you were dead, as you should be."

"And you were told wrong, just like everybody else."

Alistair's head swiveled from side to side, from Wynne to Loren and then back to Wynne. What in Andraste's name is going on here?

-TBC-

**A/N:** Ok, to garner more interest…I've received an interesting suggestion from a reviewer of mine, who suggested something about mpreg and the Dalish having learned it to prevent their race from plummeting too fast into extinction. Who's for it? This will actually decide on a key character's fate as I'm still deciding on how to end this story. So please, vote in a review!


	41. The Grey Ones

**Chapter 41: The Grey Ones**

_"Let the Grey Ones rise from the ashes of destruction," a solemn voice cried out in the empty darkness. "Let them feast upon the souls of the vanquished, of the evil that prey upon all life…"_

_Low voices murmured in reply and Anders, curious as to what he was hearing, edged closer to the group of shadows. As he arrived at the scene, he espied four figures, of men attired in various clothings. Three wore long robes while the one in the middle had on a set of grey armor, with spikes coming out of his shoulder guards and kneepads. All in all, he looked quite dangerous and Anders immediately brought up his guard, knowing how dangerous the Fade could be._

_ "It appears someone has joined us, at last. Our long-lost brother," the speaker said to the confused Anders. "Come join us, Razakiel, for you are the youngest and the most respected of the Old Gods…"_

_Fire burned brightly into the clear night sky and Anders knew that it was fire borne from the oldest form of magic, the first form of magic and he screamed as the men surrounding him changed into the leviathan monsters they were best known for_.

_ "Cry not, mortal,"_ _the leader spoke quietly to him and a clawed hand reached out for him. The black talons wrapped around his form and the apostate couldn't help but tremble as he was brought closer to that terrible face. _

_Black eyes glared at him. Unlike the stories he was constantly told in his childhood, those dark eyes held an intangible emotion, an ageless wisdom such that he had never been blessed to see and experience._

_ "Dumat," the dragon to the left of the speaker spoke out in a hushed whisper. "He is yet to be corrupted."_

_ "And he will stay uncorrupted, thanks to this unforeseen event. He's bound by law, by magic to this Hawke character."_

_ "The Hawke of Legend?" Another hissed angrily. "He should be slain now! The sins of his father will consume him whole."_

_ "Silence!" The dragon's voice boomed. The clawed hand tightened around Anders, making it harder for the mage to breathe. "He is now the consort to our brethren and as such, should be treated with respect!"_

_ The others bowed their heads in submission, knowing that their leader had spoken rightly. All had taken a lover but each had fallen into darkness with their awakening._

_ "We have lost Urthemiel to the darkness. We must save our two brethren for if they follow Urthemiel, then the world will burn. You, dear brother," the dragon focused on the mortal it held in its grasp. "You must get out of Kirkwall…return to us…"_

"Return to us…" someone murmured to him and Anders found himself slowly opening his eyes. There, peering down at him was this enigmatic stranger that he connected with. Those gentle golden eyes stared down at him, reminding him all too well of the powerful ruler of the sky. The Hawkes…

The beard, tidied and shaved at the edges, was now largely unkempt and darker. The face was still slightly pale but other than that, he bore no physical evidence of being gutted with a longsword.

Arren Hawke's old clothes were replaced by clean tunics, in shades of light blue and dark brown. It nicely contrasted with those topaz orbs and Anders' hand reached out to cup the man's cheek, marveling in his good luck at finding his partner, the person who would understand him in his hopeless plight against the Templars, against the world who hated mages.

Arren smiled and he leaned against the palm that laid against his cheek. Anders' body thrummed lightly when he felt a soft kiss and the large, broad-shouldered man leaned down.

"You're safe…I'll keep you safe…on my blood and honour…" was the promise that eased his fears of being found by the Templars. "Sleep…my love…"

A strange but not unwelcomed lethargy swept through Anders' body and his eyelids felt heavy. He wanted to keep Arren in his view, to not lose sight of that handsome visage. However, Arren's sleep spell was too strong for him to keep conscious any longer. A hand squeezed his in a reassuring grip and Anders let go, knowing that Arren would be there for him.

-o0o-

"Arren's lucky that man was with us," Leandra pointed out as she stirred the small wooden pot of soup of vegetables and rabbit meat. "He would have died before even getting on the ship…if…if…."

The wooden spoon clattered against the pot and a stifled sob came out.

Bethany brought her mother into her arms and hugged her tightly. Carver at first looked awkwardly at the pair of them before finally covering the two of them with his arms.

"It's ok, mother," Bethany whispered to her as their mother placed her head in Carver's shoulders, the tears wetting his shirt. "We're together at least. Father would not have wanted anything bad happen to us."

"I know…" Leandra said between sniffles. "It's just…it feels different…as if this wasn't supposed to happen…"

"Hush, mum. Don't say that. We're here and we're together."

It was a simple fact that brought all of them comfort. It reminded them that despite all the hardships they went through, they still had each other. So wound up in this moment, they failed to notice a much larger apparition watching them with sad but relieved eyes. It looked to the door and whispered something before vanishing completely.

As if in response to the whisper, the door shimmered quietly with power but neither Bethany nor Carver caught it, all too engrossed in comforting their mother.

" I better check up on Arren and Anders," Bethany spoke out almost in a whisper, afraid to break this momentous silence. Their mother nodded and she withdrew herself from her childrens' arms. She composed herself rather quickly, brushing away her tears with her hands.

"I'll finish supper then."

"I'm coming with you, Bethany," Carver said bluntly, giving his sister no room to argue. If she had anything to say, the younger mage merely kept it to herself.

The pair entered the only other room their Uncle Gamlen's house had and saw that their brother was already awake. In fact, he looked a lot better than their healer did, considering that his gut wound almost took him into the Fade.

He sat on the stool that Anders had previously occupied in merely hours ago. His posture was hunched in almost and Bethany's heart clenched at the sight of her distraught brother. In public, he had always proven to be strong: back straight, eyes focused and clear with steady hands that never strayed far from his staff and dirks.

Now, his posture signified something she had never thought he would portray: defeat or maybe simple fatigue. It was something that was not Arren Hawke and she immediately went to his side. Almost in reflex, he had grabbed at his staff. So tired was he that he had difficulty in realizing that he was in his Uncle Gamlen's shack, with his family members all holed up in the shanty two-room household. At least that's what Bethany theorized.

"Arren?" Her hand shook as she tried to touch him. His head jerked slightly and his eyes, slightly glazed over, brightened at recognizing her face.

"Hey, Bethany," his voice croaked a bit and he put a hand to his throat, in an attempt to clear it.

"You're ok, Arren?" She asked in a rather timid voice. Arren was known for his temper and his powerful magic, but he never turned his anger on his family.

"Yeah, I'm alright, thanks to him," Arren murmured in a hushed voice as if he was afraid of waking up the healer. The blonde mage made a soft sound and Arren's eyes brightened up. He scooted impossibly closer to him and Bethany could tell that he was waiting for Anders to wake up. However, the other mage stayed asleep. He merely shifted to the edge of the cot, clearly trying to stay near the source of warmth, namely Arren.

The youngest sibling gave a sad smile at the scene in front of her. Her brother looked so sad then and she hoped that this man, whoever he is, would pull through.

-TBC-

A/N: Sorry for the delay! School's been hectic and I should be studying for my finals right now instead of writing short chappies for various stories. Please, with sugar on top, review?


	42. Night of the Undead

**Chapter 42: Night of the Undead**

"So, it's true then," Fergus' eyes became wet with tears, tears that did not fall down on his cheeks. "Did they-"

"I don't know," Hadrian replied rather brusquely. He didn't want to be reminded of that horrific night. _Go, son. Avenge us. Let that traitorous Howe know of what happens when he crosses the Couslands. _His mother's words rang as clearly as if she was standing right beside him. The smell of blood that stained his father's side still followed him and the younger brother looked at his hands, remembering how those very same hands tried to cover the wound, as if he could merely stop the bleeding with his bare hands.

Another pair of hands, broad and strong like their father's, covered his trembling ones and the grief that he ruthlessly quelled behind his mask of indifference to the outside world rose like a tidal wave, overwhelming and taking him by surprise.

He fell against his brother's chest, hot tears spilling forth and his body shook violently. Fergus, ever the strong one, held the both of them upright. His supporting embrace enveloped his younger brother tightly.

"It'll be ok," Fergus murmured gently to him. He made soothing strokes along the back, the movements calming Hadrian through his bout of grief. Fergus had time to handle his loss but his brother was charged with important tasks as soon as Howe's betrayal occurred. Hadrian never truly mourned his parents until now, in his brother's arms and being reminded of what he lost to get to his current position, as a Grey Warden and perhaps Ferelden's last hope for the Blight.

"So, I imagine you were forced into being a Grey Warden? Mother would be screaming in her grave right about now," Fergus tried to joke and it worked. Hadrian's sobs halted, only to change to weak, choked gasps of laughter. The younger brother withdrew himself from his brother's arms and rubbed his eyes with one forearm, all the way stifling his laughter but without success.

"Yeah," Hadrian said quietly, "I imagine she would be. Probably blaming Dad for telling us stories about them when we were young pups."

"That other man is also a Grey Warden, hmm?" Fergus knew this wasn't the time to ask but as the elder of the family, he had to protect the last of his clan, of his pack.

"You mean Alistair?" Hadrian's hand rubbed against the spot where Alistair had marked him on that feverish night. Then, sensing what he was doing, he quickly dropped his hand and hoped that Fergus didn't catch it. Unfortunately he did and Fergus stepped forward, softly growling as Hadrian flinched in response. With the Alpha of their pack dead, it left Fergus to fulfill that role and Hadrian groaned, more out of embarassment than anything else, when Fergus' hand gently pulled down the brown tunic.

"It's nothing, brother," Hadrian tersely replied as he tried to jerk away from Fergus. "Just a bruise."

"He's started to claim you," Fergus whispered in an angry tone. "He's barely known you and already thinks to mark you as his."

"I'm not fucking _his! _Besides, he didn't know what he was doing...so that doesn't count." Hadrian managed to walk away from the taller man and he hid his face from him, ashamed that a Cousland would so easily be claimed by another man. It took his own father some time to court his mother before they initiated their claiming.

"So, you're saying he did it out of instincts," Fergus smiled at how Hadrian's mouth opened and closed, like a gaping fish. He was really going to have give Hadrian a hard time about this. "That doesn't help your case, Hadrian."

"So what should I do? Just give him what he wants? That's _not _who I am." Hadrian's blue eyes lit up with a fiery passion and Fergus was gladly reminded of those younger, carefree days where he and Hadrian would spar or train other soldiers, of a time that didn't require traveling on the hard roads and avoiding monstrous beings of the night.

"Then, don't. If you wish to end this, you need to do it now before-" Fergus trailed off and he suddenly found a looming, brown mountain very interesting.

"What? Before what?"

"Before he mates with you,"

There was a sharp scream of helplessness and a large group of birds flew up in the air out of being startled by that unexpected scream. It was a good thing for Hadrian that they were far enough away from the village for his scream to not be overheard. A very good thing, given Fergus' smugness. A very good thing.

-o0o-

"Everybody, just calm down. No need to get all magicky, right?" Alistair said in a strained whisper. Despite the lack of Templars in the Redcliffe Chantry, the presence of the Chantry sisters still pressed on Alistair's mind that a magical display would not bode welll, at least not in self-defense. Even then, he was quite sure that there would be communication between the Sisters here and everywhere else through the use of sparrows.

"Alistair, this man is supposed to be dead! He could be a blood mage!," Wayne replied crossly, like an angry mother just wanting to punish a badly behaved child.

"Blood mage? You truly think of me as _that?_ You of all people should know better, _Senior Enchanter._" Loren's eyes brightened with anger and he was just about to say something when the young Templar moaned pitifully, his head thrashing around against his chest. At the mention of his name, the stoney expression softened into that of concern and perhaps something else. Of what, Alistair couldn't really identify. Not yet anyways.

Even Wayne managed to set aside her grudge or whatever issues she may have had with this Loren character. She sat beside Cullen, across from Loren and placed a hand on his forehead. She made a sound of disapproval and stared at Loren.

"I told him to stay back at camp with the dwarves," She said in an exasperated tone. Loren emitted a soft chuckle and he brushed a few errant strands of hair from Cullen's pale forehead.

"He's always been stubborn," Loren replied. "_Always_."

"Well, he better be stubborn enough to get through this fever," Wayne bit back rather sharply. "He needs to be in bed, now."

"_I_ will take him to bed and care for him. I do not yet trust you, Wayne Mcfernus," Loren's voice was soft but held a dangerous edge and it worried the watching Grey Warden.

Both Wayne and Alistair could only stare as the willowy mage lifted the Templar easily into his arms, as if he were a mere child, before walking away from them and exiting out of the Chantry. Stunned silence followed the mage and his charge in their wake; only the weak moans and soft cries of the sick, the desperate could be heard behind them.

"So, uh, how does someone come back from the dead?" Zevran asked in a cheeky tone but his hands had been fingering his daggers all throughout the confrontation between the mages. While his hands may have been conditioned to throw daggers at the closest threat, he restrained the will to kill the strange mage. Also, it was more amusing to see how the other Grey Warden would handle it and the blonde Warden handled it badly. It was only by good fortune that this mage decided to withdraw his intentions on physically dealing with Wayne.

"Easily enough, elf," Morrigan's topaz eyes narrowed at the sight of that mage's back, "but not without consequences."

"The Maker condones such actions," Leliana replied softly and the two ladies eye each other warily but stopped at the sound of that same door opening, revealing their absent leader and the tall, handsome brother. They had all seen Fergus outside, in the bright sun. In here, however, with the way the shadows played with the fine cheekbones and how the gentle candlelight made his dark brown eyes even darker, almost smoldering at least, it made even Morrigan flush at how magnificent this older Cousland was.

"We just saw Loren and Cullen," Hadrian started to say as he approached his group of companions. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, we just saw the undead walk right out of this door and that's about it," Morrigan's snide remark made Fergus bristle with anger at how casually she treated the situation. Hadrian's eyebrows shot up with surprise and he turned to regard his brother, silently asking for an explanation.

"He was reported as dead when we found his body lying on his cot in the Circle," Wayne explained. "The corpse, it was so lifelike, so similar to him."

"With the way the Circle was, I'm surprised you don't see more bodies like that," Hadrian murmured quietly, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him. Only Fergus heard the comment and he placed a hand on his brother's right shoulder, fully aware of how Alistair's nostrils flared with silent rage. "Come on, people. We have much to do before the night bears down on us."

As Hadrian's companions followed him, Fergus couldn't help but marvel at how great a leader his brother was. Five years ago, he wouldn't have believed this was possible. Of course, five years was a time of innocence and happiness for the both of them. Now though, with the Blight bearing down upon Ferelden, nothing was the same and Fergus wondered if it all would end happily. He could only hope.

-o0o-

The rest of the day, only a few candlelights left before dusk, was spent preparing the village for the future battle. At the entrances, pikes were arranged to face outwards so that incoming assailants would be impaled and thus add to the wooden fortifications. Barrels of oil that Hadrian discovered while rummaging through the village's storehouse lined up behind the pikes and archers stood patiently behind Hadrian and his group.

In case the undead would breach their defenses and somehow reach the cluster of houses further down the mountainside, Teagan ordered everyone who couldn't fight into the Chantry and locked them in there. Several lines of Redcliffe Knights guarded the perimeter of the Chantry while the bulk of the village's men and Teagan's guards were posted several yards away from the Chantry. Yevin and his squadron formed a protective circle around Fergus, despite his protests. The only response from the blonde Captain was that they were to guard his life at all times, on Teagan's orders.

"Ser Teagan would have all of our hides if we were to fail in our duties. The Maker Himself would shun us."

Even Dwyn had joined them, after a hard persuasion from Hadrian, who, if Alistair remembered correctly, convinced him to fight for the village under pain of death, with a longsword pointed at his throat. While Alistair would have much preferred a different tactic, sometimes, with characters like the hardened Dwyn, it takes more than a few words to convince them to agree with you. What's more surprising was to see Lloyd there as well, his red hair and roundness set him apart from the rest of the soldiers. Alistair's heart sank when he noticed how poorly armored some of the villagers were. Clad only in their basic tunics and light leather armor with crude wooden axes as their weapons, their chances of survival were slim, even with all the Knights of Redcliffe standing beside them. Even with the blacksmith working hard all day to craft more weapons and armor, he could only produce so much with mediocre quality.

"Alistair, they'll be alright," Hadrian whispered next to him, standing strong with his head held high and sharp blue eyes fixed on something in the distance. It was too dark to see for any normal human but as Alistair also gazed ahead at him, he was startled to see silhouettes of something broken moving in jerky movements ahead of them. The outlines of bones and tattered flesh told Alistair that this wasn't a dream or a nightmare. The darkspawn were horrifying enough, but to see this shook him to the core. He was long used to seeing genlocks and their leaders rushing at him. He expected the quick battles but this slow-moving horde of the undead scared him.

However, he had to hold steady, to protect the villagers and most importantly, the man at his side. He stood poised, his shield out and held in front of him. The longsword, borrowed from Kaitlyn's little brother, protruded from the shield. He and Hadrian were on the frontline of their defense, along with soldiers who had excellent melee combat skills. Morrigan and Leliana were positioned at the small bridge, providing long-range fire to those who managed to pass the first line of defense. Zevran, thankfully, was placed with the other villagers, near Fergus Cousland. He had full confidence in the elf's skills but didn't trust him enough to fight alongside Hadrian. Apparently, Hadrian trusted Zevran enough to have put him in the same group as Fergus was in.

To provide support and healing, Wayne was with Fergus while Loren had accompanied the group at the top of the hill, where Alistair and Hadrian were. Loren's staff looked more like a wand than anything else and the blonde wondered how he was going to cast spells with that tiny thing.

"Archers!" Hadrian shouted, his voice loud and clear despite his silver helmet. The archers raised their bows and released their arrows, which were set aflame. The barrels of oil exploded and stalled the first wave of invaders. However, fire could only hold their enemies back for so long until they broke forth and Alistair focused on the horde that came upon them, his inner wolf howling for the upcoming battle. As he struck down the first undead, an older man by the grey hair, he watched his partner lope off a head, leaving his chest wide open to another attack. The only problem with wielding a greatsword is it leaves the wielder open and vulnerable for a few seconds. A few seconds could be the difference between life and death. In this case, Alistair watched as another man staggered close to him, its sword moving forward to the Hadrian's torso. It connected with the armor and slipped to the side as Hadrian realized what had happened. Alistair beat him to it though, having hewn off the offending arm and bashing it in the face. The enemy fell back, with Alistair's sword to the middle.

Hadrian stared at him for a few seconds before briefly turning his attentions to the fight happening before them. If he wondered at how closely Alistair guarded his flanks, he made no comment on it. Not until he was knocked backwards, an arrow in the shoulder pad where the armor was thinnest, did Hadrian say something. He cursed as the arrow bit deeply into his shoulder, causing tendrils of pain to reach to his spine and almost numbing his right hand. He switched his weapon to another hand and narrowly parried a glancing blow from another sword-wielding corpse. Before he could make a final blow, Alistair reached out to him and pulled him down just as an arrow zipped past him and harmlessly bounced off his shield.

"Alistair! Wha-" Hadrian's eyes were wide and held something that Alistair couldn't name yet. Alistair didn't know it then but he was told later, after the battle, that his eyes were amber with black slits for pupils. They were almost demonic and if Wayne had been there with them, she would have called him an abomination, despite him not being a mage. "Your eyes..."

The blonde Warden growled at Hadrian and dragged him to where Loren was at. The mage was busy summoning warding sigils around their allies, providing much needed support and protection for the fighting soldiers. He pushed Hadrian into the centre of the warding sigil a little rougher than he intended and turned his back on the pair. He ignored Hadrian's inquiring looks as he took a protective stance over the pair, hacking and slashing any who tried to get past him.

The battle had stopped for a few moments, giving the group time to catch their breaths, to reinforce their broken ranks. When the second wave had occurred, they were with Fergus and the others. Alistair was surprised to see the elven assassin covering the older Cousland's back, his daggers slicing through his assailants with terrifying ease. It made him wonder how he was able to knock Zevran out in their first fight if all he could see now were dark blurs and white flashes of steel.

He stayed close to Hadrian, who recovered quickly from his previous injury, and together, they held off the attackers, wave after wave, until no more came after them. It was a villager who struck down the last corpse, a younger man, when the soft hues of amber began to break through the dark clouds of night, signifying the end of that battle and revealed those who died defending the village.

"Aw shit, it's Lloyd, from the tavern," one of the Redcliffe villagers exclaimed, toeing the limp heap of the rotund bartender unto its back. Lloyd was clearly dead, a slash to the throat with a pool of blood growing even bigger underneath the neck. "Well, at least he died defending his tavern, if not the village."

All the villagers had known how lazy and cowardly their bartender was but it made his loss no easier to bear. He wasn't the only one who died and by the midmorne, they had sent off thirty men to their watery graves, giving silent thanks to those who gave their lives for the village.

Alistair had hoped for a day's rest before moving into the castle but Teagan wanted to see them now and he had an extremely bad feeling about this.

-TBC-

**A/N: **Hey everybody! I'm alive and updating, obviously. The next chapter is almost done. Tell me how I'm doing so far! Thanks!  
For all who left reviews and/or placed it on their favs/alerts list, thank you very much!


	43. The Lady of Orlais

**Chapter 43: The Lady of Orlais**

-o0o-

"Maker's breath!" Teagan cursed and he pointed down the hilly road that ran deep into the valleys. Sounds of padded footsteps brought everyone to attention and Hadrian let out an audible hiss at the sight of the familiar redhead, the one whose scent felt _wrong._

"Lady Isolde!" The younger Eamon exclaimed in shock, his face paling and appearing as if he was going to be sick.

"Teagan! Thank the Maker you are alive!" The petite woman stopped within a few paces of the group and Hadrian's eyes narrowed as he noticed that there was only one guard with her. The man's eyes looked glazed over and there was an unnatural grace to his strides followed by the unusual stiffness in his postures. The Arlessa, on the other hand, appeared in full control of her mind and the sharp contrast between the two immediately put Hadrian on guard. Something was amiss here and his good friend, Teagan, was going to get in the mess of it.

"Careful, Teagan," Hadrian warned, stepping forward and prompting the other guard to pull out his sword. The action caused Alistair to do the same but Hadrian didn't say anything to stop him. Even if he did, it wouldn't help the situation. Alistair had become strangely protective of him as of late, more possessive as well.

"Who dares? Who is this man, Teagan?" Lady Isolde's scowl marred her pretty face, twisting that relieved smile into thin red lines.

"Hold your swords," Teagan replied calmly, hoping to defuse the already tense situation. He had no idea what would have happened with the presence of Isolde and her guard. It was particular more troublesome with Alistair present as well. He still remembered that day when she literally tossed Alistair out of the castle and dumped him, through his older brother, into the village's chantry. The younger Guerrin hadn't expected for Isolde to recognize the fully-grown man. Thus, when she gasped out Alistair's name in a horrified tone, Teagan knew that he had to calm everyone down and fast.

"My lady, what has happened to Eamon? Is he safe?" Nothing got her attention faster than the topic of her beloved husband and she raised her hand, to signal the guard to put away his greatsword, before turning her full attentions to her brother-in-law.

"Yes, for now. But, you must come with me, Teagan, alone." It was a gentle request but a trap as well. Hadrian had no intentions of letting his childhood friend go and he shook his head.

"No, it's a trap," Hadrian said firmly.

"You dare to speak out of your place! You are speaking in the presence of the Arlessa of Redcliffe!" She hissed out her malcontent at the younger man.

"Might I remind _you_, Lady Isolde," Hadrian replied caustically, tired of being brushed aside like a common peasant, "that I am Hadrian Cousland, son of the late Bryce and Eleanor Cousland."

"You?! Then, perhaps you should remember your manners in the presence of a lady! I am sure your mother taught you better!"

The mention of his mother, spoken of so casually by the bitter woman, made Hadrian clench his fists tightly, hanging onto his restraint with all the willpower of a man who bore everything unto his shoulders: the tragedy of his parents, his hopeless initiation into the Wardens, and this Blight that hung over his head like a dark cloud. He couldn't lose it in front of his companions; he couldn't scream out his frustrations at the Arlessa or pummel something into submission. Instead, he breathed in a steady rhythm, remembering his father's words-_bear yourself away from the world, listen to the trees, the wind, to the heart beating deep inside you. Care not to immerse yourself in the outside world. Instead, look within and find serenity._

His father's words, while a constant reminder of what he lost, calmed him down enough for the rage to ebb inside of him.

"Milady, I will go with you but give me a moment to speak with Hadrian and his friends," Teagan's steady voice could be heard through the calmness of his meditations. Someone was gripping unto his shoulder and Hadrian realized, with a start, that he was swaying slightly. They all watched Isolde nod her head in agreement and Teagan approached them, albeit a little unsteadily.

"Listen, I haven't much time," Teagan began to say as he led them away from Isolde, to bring them out of earshot. "I will try to find out what truly is going on inside the castle. If Eamon is really as sick as Isolde claims him to be, then you must get him out of there. Leave me and anyone else behind. We are expendable!"

"Teagan, you can't!" Hadrian shook his head in refusal. Those words sounded horribly familiar and Hadrian could see his father's face lurking behind Teagan's own visage.

"I must. You should have no problems getting into the castle undetected. With my signet ring, the door will open. From there, go and find what is going on."

"I'll save you, Teagan," Hadrian sounded determined, a fire kindled in his blue eyes. "I'll save everyone."

Teagan nodded and gripped his friend's shoulder tightly before turning away and following after Lady Isolde and her guard.

"I need to inform Loren of this; perhaps he will have an idea of what's behind these dark events," Hadrian said, his hand fingering his chin in thought. Before anyone could protest, he walked away from the group, his shoulders heavily slumped as if a great weight was put on them. Everyone was quite confused as to what was going on. Their leader's reactions to Lady Isolde, her reactions to the both of them and then Teagan's sudden departure, leaving behind only a signet ring that granted them access to the Redcliffe Castle. However, nothing topped that except for the the piece of news that their leader's parents were dead. Everyone heard the words mouthed angrily by their leader. _I am the son of the late Bryce and Eleanor Cousland_...

"Go to him, Alistair," someone suggested and the blonde warrior was stunned to find that it was the elven assassin who spoke the words. He thought to find a hint of mockery in those sharp, brown eyes but there was an understanding of sorts simmering in those brown orbs. An understanding of sorrow and grief. How would Zevran know of that as an assassin? Alistair knew it wasn't the time to bring up old grudges and petty jealousy. "He doesn't need to go alone."

Alistair wordlessly agreed with the blonde elf and he silently walked after Hadrian, fully aware of everyone staring after them.

-o0o-

_Go son, leave us here...tell Fergus...that we love you both..._

Hadrian's chest heaved as he tried to forget that horrible night. His memory of fire and blood, of betrayal, was too strong to be erased. It stood indelibly in his mind, like a beacon of his shame and of his weakness. He should have stayed behind! Stayed with his parents and defend their name of Cousland. Now he was a Grey Warden and tasked with defending a nation, much less his home. How could he defend Ferelden when he couldn't even stave off Howe's assault on the castle?

He sobbed quietly by the bridge, feeling overwhelmed by the events. He was fine up until he saw Fergus and seeing his older brother alive and whole brought everything hard to port. While he was relieved that he was no longer the sole heir of their family name, seeing Fergus and then Isolde didn't bring him any comfort. He cried out his anguish with Fergus, sharing his loss with his brother, until their inner wolves were silenced, too bound by their sorrow to voice out their grief within their hosts' bodies.

Hadrian was so lost in thought, he failed to pick up the quiet footsteps behind him and jumped when a hand gently clasped on his shoulders. The scent of sandalwood and oiled armor drifted into his nose and the smell relaxed him, knowing who it was at his back. The hand then brought him closer to a cold breastplate and strong arms wrapped themselves around his shaking form. He didn't fight the tight but comforting embrace. He didn't protest when a soft kiss was placed gently on top of his head nor the gentle pressure of dry chapped lips placed on top of his.

Then his tears were smoothed away by those same lips and there were whispers of comfort, of _love,_ in his ear.

The two warriors spent several moments in silent repose; one grieving while the other one supported him.

"Better?" The taller one spoke in a tender whisper, his lips brushing against the silken silver locks. A gauntled hand stroked down his back and while Hadrian couldn't feel it with his heavy chainmail armor, he appreciated the gesture.

Hadrian nodded in answer and he drew back from Alistair's strong embrace only to have the blonde warrior lift his chin up. Alistair's eyes were soft in compassion and understanding and Hadrian realized, up close, that he bore light freckles across his nose, something he didn't notice until now. He didn't realize he was touching them until his hand was caught in one of Alistair's and brought to his lips instead.

One finger was almost drawn into his mouth and Hadrian flushed at the heated gaze of his lover. Maker, this certainly wasn't the time but the way Alistair stared at him made him want to submit himself to him-on his stomach and his ass up in the air.

Alistair somehow guessed what he was thinking when there was that knowing smirk on his handsome, tanned face. "You are definitely better now." His voice, usually light and carefree, was deeper and had an edge of a growl to it. It heightened Hadrian's arousal and Hadrian was just about to say something when a voice shouted at them from afar, "Alistair, just storm his castle already!"

Hadrian groaned, mentally cursing the lithe elf who _shouldn't_ have been watching them. Then he let out a small laugh and covered his eyes, too embarrassed by the shoutout. Another female voice admonished Zevran loudly and she yelled out, "Alistair, Hadrian! We're not watching anymore. Keep doing what you're going to do!"

Leliana's Orlesian accent gave her away and Alistair chuckled, nodding his head at how closely their friends were watching them. The two separated even further, prompting further groans of frustration and disappointment from their friends.

"Come on," Alistair started to head out, still hanging onto his lover's hand. "We best be on our way to Loren and Cullen. Otherwise, we'll probably hear enough catcalls and whistles to last us the night."

Another sharp whistle cut through the air, thus supporting Alistair's theory, and the two men just laughed as they both walked down the bridge, a little closer together than normal. For once, Hadrian didn't mind and the silver-haired Cousland wondered if perhaps that Alistair's affection for him was genuine and not borne out of the High Lord's influence. Only time would tell.

-TBC-

AN: Hey everyone! I am starting to update more often, mostly because I started playing DA again and this time with a mod that allows Alistair to see the male playable character as a woman! Yay! The next chappie is coming up soon! I promise! As always, I look forward to some feedback!


	44. A Certain Thought That Lingers

**A Certain Thought That Lingers**

Soft pained moans drifted in the otherwise silent room where Loren and Cullen were taking residence in. The pained sounds halted Loren's writings and the tall mage turned around. A slender hand caressed his feverish patient and he murmured sweet nonsensical words to the sick templar.

Lyrium withdrawal was the key to keeping Templars within the Chantry and its rules. It was one of the reasons why Loren detested the order and he saw the Templars victims to their fate, as well as mages. At least, mages had the power to change things if they were willful enough. He managed to come up with a concoction that would help ease the withdrawal pangs and it was this dark-red solution that was being fed to his protector.

Cullen coughed, almost gagging on the foul brew but he dutifully consumed the beverage. The effects were immediate and the reddening of those pale cheeks pleased Loren to no end.

"Better?" The dark-haired mage asked of the blond, who nodded slightly before resting back into bed. "I would tell you what it's in it but I fear that it would be the last time you would drink it."

Cullen had enough energy to make a strangled sound, akin to a choked laugh, before his head turned on its side, his brown eyes gazing sleepily at his caretaker. Loren cupped his cheek and kissed his brow, prompting a quiet moan of pleasure from the blonde. The mage smiled at the sight of those eyes closing and of Cullen leaning into his open palm. He stroked a few errant hairs from the sleeping man's forehead and made to get up when fingers clasped gingerly around his hand.

"...stay..." his patient pleaded and Loren nodded, not having the heart to say 'no' to those soft brown orbs that were dulled with fever and medicine.

Loren stayed beside him and waited until he was deep in slumber before finally withdrawing from the warm bed. Twilight had arrived, its presence given away by the soft hues of orange and purple light. Dark clouds gathered along the horizon and thunder rumbled above the thatch construct the pair were currently in. However, this was no natural storm and Loren sighed heavily as Cullen moaned in his sleep and shifted. Cullen had always been extra sensitive to magic, more so than the other templars, and his sensitivity was the sole reason to his rapid success in the Templar Order.

To calm him, Loren focused on bringing forth his healing energies, letting the mana collect on his fingertips. He brushed soothingly along the templar's furrowed brows and smiled tenderly as they relaxed underneath his soft caress. A few words were muttered and not before long, Cullen was sent into a deep slumber, one not to be disturbed by the rumble and the upcoming violence of battle.

It thankfully worked for Loren was much occupied with defending the village later that night, setting up warding sigils for the Redcliffe fighters and for his best friends, the Cousland brothers who were reunited at last. He was worried about Fergus for a while and hoped that the deaths of his friend's parents wouldn't drag him down into the cesspool of depression. He had seen too many faces of despair, wrought with grief and the utter hopelessness for change in the mages' situation. He wished not to see it on his friend's proud visage and the Maker must have been kind indeed to the two brothers. Only a miracle could have brought all three of them together in that one place, at one particular time.

'_And were it not for this occurrence, I can only imagine the consequences: the downfall of the Redcliffe Village, the ghosts of the dead haunting those who travel down the roads of the present.'_

Loren wrote out his observation in a tattered, leather-bound journal. It was rather large and cumbersome but he needed the extra space to jot down his theories, his thoughts on the Blight, the conflict of Templar and Mage. The pages were filled with complex equations, life explained by mathematica scrawls and cosmic diagrams.

On the left hand were seven figures, with five as depicted in draconian form and the other two had question marks below, along with another scrawl or two-draconian form or something more?

He was about to write something else when a light tap alerted his attention. He quickly mumbled another phrase and the book shrunk to the size of a silver coin. He didn't want anyone to get a hand on this journal, mage or otherwise. Once his journal was safely hidden, he stood up and gave a cursory glance at Cullen before opening the door.

Both Hadrian and Alistair stood there, in full gear with weapons slung over their backs. While Alistair looked fresh and rearing to go, Hadrian was the exact opposite, with his puffy eyes and pale cheeks. To Loren, it appeared that Hadrian had been crying and was just now composing himself before his friend.

"Come in, both of you," Loren said and he stepped aside. The pair walked in, albeit quietly so as not to disturb the recovering templar.

"How is he, Loren?" Hadrian asked of him and Loren turned to gaze at Cullen again, his green eyes thoughtful.

"Better now. He rested well throughout the night, even with the fighting going on and without me here with him."

"Good. I wanted to ask you," Hadrian began to say before Loren interrupted him with a smile. "What? Why are you smiling like that?" Hadrian's confusion was genuine and that made Loren smile even more. Despite what had transpired, Hadrian still retained some of his youthful innocence. His open expressions would undoubtedly be used against him in the royal court but now, now people needed to see their hero's reactions.

"You wanted to ask if we were lovers," Loren replied knowingly. "No, not lovers but I think the feelings are mutual."

"Oh, well," Hadrian fidgeted, clearly mentally kicking himself for asking such a personal question. Loren laughed and he patted his friend's shoulder.

"Do not worry so, old friend," Loren reassured Hadrian, "and that is not your only question you wanted to ask, am I right? What's happening?"

Being given a little push to retell the story, Hadrian took a deep breath before informing Loren of what happened recently. Meeting Isolde and Teagan gone with her. The cryptic remarks of the Orlesian woman concerned the brunette but kept his questions until Hadrian completed his verbal update.

All throughout the retelling of events, Loren made an important observation and it was on how closely Alistair watched Hadrian. The way the dark-brown eyes would linger on certain parts of his friend's face, the lips and the eyes. The warrior's stance was relaxed but it was deceiving, allowing any would-be assailant to falsely think that the pair were weak. His stance was protective of Hadrian, his right foot positioned in front of Hadrian's left with his body angled towards Hadrian, to provide a buffer perhaps between Hadrian and an attack.

The mage knew that the stance was a subconscious reaction to an unknown, namely him, and he didn't take offense to that, not when Cullen did the exact thing to him back in the Circle Tower. Wait...exact same thing...a lover's gaze...oh Maker! This man is in love with Hadrian! What made his observation even more shocking was that Hadrian seemed to welcome the protective stance of the blonde warrior. The way his body shifted closer to the other man, how his eyes flickered over to Alistiar's before returning to meet his own. He truly never suspected that Hadrian was fey and, while that was not offensive to his senses, it took him aback that it took him this long to realize such an important facet to the silver-haired being.

"What do you think, Loren?" The question startled him for a second and he had to spend a few minutes recollecting his thoughts about what Hadrian had told him.

"I think this Isolde is witholding something vital from you," Loren automatically said. It was the best phrase he could come up with before Hadrian could tell him anymore.

"You know, I should have mentioned this to you, before you left for the circle again," Hadrian said and he wrung his hands, a sign of anxiety. "When I was visiting them almost five years ago or so, but I thought...I thought I saw Connor's eyes flash blue. I didn't know if it was the trick of the light but I think...I think her son's a mage and this mess is of magical origin."

"Wait, are you saying that this is Connor's doing?" The blonde warrior asked, eyes wide with surprise at this revelation. Hadrian's head ducked, as if ashamed to have brought it up.

"Yes," Loren said, as he pieced the puzzle together to procure a bigger picture of what was occurring. "This is of magical origin but we do not yet know the true Master behind this machination."

The face of Jowan flashed in front of him and he became stuck in a dilemma. Should he tell the pair the truth behind Isolde's odd behaviour? No, it may jeopardize his plans on freeing his friend. _This_ was one of the main reasons why he left the Circle Tower in the first place. To find Jowan and seek the truth from his friend's own mouth.

_Why? Did you put me in a thrall too? Was I part of your escape plan?_ He once asked of his friend, right as he found out that Jowan was a blood mage. But if Jowan was indeed the cause behind this undead fiasco, then it was up to Loren to grant Jowan an act of mercy, knowing that the Guerrins would be sorely lacking in that aspect.

"I want to go with you," Loren suddenly suggested and Hadrian agreed, surprisingly, to his request. Unfortunately, Cullen did not and a hoarse voice called out him, stronger than it sounded the night before.

"Not without me, you're not," Cullen's voice rasped and he smoothly got up, forgetting the fact that he was naked.

"Oh Maker!" The two warriors cursed simultaneously and they covered their eyes.

"What? What is it?" Cullen asked and Loren burst out laughing at the way Cullen slowly looked down before gasping out loud and jumping into bed. The templar blushed furiously at what just happened and he had a feeling that Loren would never let him live this one down. But this strange tactic of persuading Loren to agree with him for once worked.

"I suppose you are going with us, naked or not."

Another silvery laugh before Hadrian shouted, "put some bloody clothes on him, Loren!"

The house, once filled with a tension of the events, now was full of laughter and cheer. Maker only knows that they would need it to face the horrors of what awaited their arrival at Redcliffe Castle.

-TBC-

**A/N: **I know, I know! A cliffhanger! Don't you hate those? However, the chapter seems appropriate to end this way. What will happen once they find the true source of dark magic that haunted the Redcliffe Village? Will the dangers of magic and a rogue templar bring out the three powerful words that both Alistair and Cullen want to say to their respective partners? We'll see!


	45. The Child of Stars, Part I

**The Child of Stars, part I**

"Fergus! What? What are you doing?" Hadrian exclaimed. The younger Cousland expected his older brother to still be in his armor but seeing him cleaning his sword and shield angered the younger brother. Fergus, for his part, merely sheathed his sword at his hip and gifted Hadrian a wolfish grin, one that reminded the latter of their innocent days, full of pranks and languor.

"I can't very well let you march in there all by yourself," Fergus replied as he finished putting up his shield. He shifted a little bit, grimacing slightly when the bottom edge of the shield brushed none too gently against his lower back. The shield was a little heavier than the one he used for training but it gave better protection, both from melee attacks and long-distance assaults. Thus, the dual protection was worth the cumbersome weight.

"No, you're going to stay here," Hadrian demanded and he strolled confidently to his older brother. Both brothers stared at each other, neither one giving ground to the other. Alistair coughed a little, perhaps trying to breakup the little staring contest the pair were engaged in. It worked, somewhat, but _not_ to Hadrian's favor. In fact, from what Alistair could see, a smug grin appeared on Fergus' handsome face and the blonde warrior could have sworn that Hadrian was blushing furiously in response. What on earth could they be communicating about? No words were exchanged but there was clearly something going on here, something he wasn't privy to.

"Besides, as your older brother, I'm charged to keep you safe," Fergus' voice sounded final and the stubbornness of the Cousland heir prompted an exasperated sigh from the second son. "For other reasons."

Fergus' eyes glanced over to Alistair's but flickered back to Hadrian's before the blonde warrior could discern anything amiss. However, Hadrian caught on to it and he punched his brother in the shoulder, hard.

"Come on," Hadrian finally relented, knowing full well that there was nothing he could do or say to change his brother's mind about going. "I just hope we don't have the Archdemon come on top of our heads. I have to get some shuteye sometime this week."

A candlelight later, Hadrian and his four companions found themselves unsuccessfully sneaking along the stoned walls of the inner hallways. Everyone found the oddly silent and empty rooms unnerving; even Loren, who had faced down demons of the Fade during his Harrowing, grew perturbed at the lack of bodies, dead or otherwise. Several moments later, all were relieved to bump into a crowd of the undead before losing themselves in another skirmish.

"I don't like this," Cullen mumbled, a little bit nervously. The feel of magic was incredibly heavy around here, particularly where they encountered the undead and had to put them down. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his skin itched as the air shifted. It felt like someone was pulling away their mana, perhaps trying to concentrate the power of mana somewhere else. He rubbed against his forehead, the heavy presence of mana causing his head to throb uncomfortably.

Loren noticed the templar's discomfort and he laid a hand on the padded shoulder, letting his rejuvenating energies seep into the armor and finally Cullen's being. "Better?"

Cullen nodded numbly, not finding his voice to thank his mage. As much as he would like to keep Loren close to him, behind him in fact, he couldn't risk leaving his mage vulnerable in the rear of the party. Thus, and it looked like Alistair was thinking the same way as well, the mage and Hadrian were huddled protectively in the middle of the group. Fergus was out in the front, his eyes sharp and alert for anything out of the ordinary to jump at them. Both Alistair and Cullen followed behind the three men, with the two warriors giving their respective partners a critical eye to see if the two had procured any injuries from the last skirmish.

It was quite comical, really, to witness two grown men constantly checking over their loved ones. While it was cute to watch, Hadrian was getting rather annoyed with it but Alistair was stubborn; eventually, even the mighty impatient Cousland had to bow down to the whims of a lover.

Fergus heard his brother mutter soft expletives underneath his breath but the exasperated tone brought a smile to the older brother's face. Perhaps, the blonde warrior would be good for Hadrian. The light-hearted banter continued through the hallways and even into the courtyard, despite the Revenant almost killing Fergus and Hadrian.

Both Cullen and Loren had never fought a creature such as the one they faced. The amber glow behind the Revenant's face chilled the mage right down to his very soul but fear was swept away by an instinctive need to survive. He usually liked to cause damage from a safe distance but this fight was different. Their opponent had an annoying skill that Loren wished he had himself, a force spell that pulled an enemy towards the spell caster. Every time he tried to heal anyone low on health, the Revenant's hand would reach out and yank him forward, thus disrupting his healing spells.

Additionally, it kept summoning more of those pesky undead and though their attacks were insignificant compared to their summoner, a whole of them could still kill the foursome. Their enemy's magical abilities were mitigated by the two templars' holy smite, with Loren at a very safe distance from it. It wouldn't bode well for the warriors to have an unconscious healer right in the middle of a battle.

The only sound that indicated the end of the battle was a harsh groan echoing behind the horned helmet and the red glow vanished, followed by a loud clang as the Revenant slumped forward. Those still alive were easily disposed of by a wall of fire and the stench from the burning dead made everyone want to retch.

"Ugh..." Hadrian moaned and he flicked an eyeball that somehow got stuck on his shoulder. "I'm definitely going to need to take a shower after this."

If anyone had seen how Alistair's nostrils literally flare at that thought, no one commented on it. Only Fergus smelled the faint scent of arousal and felt that it was targeted at his younger brother who was innocently brushing off more of the sticky, bloody parts that splattered on him. He gave Alistair a knowing smile and that caused the blonde warrior to blush slightly before his face became neutral or attempted to be. The poor effort made the older Cousland smile even more and he just shook his head, grateful that he was alive to see this awkward hit-and-miss flirting between his brother and his lover.

A more serious thought, however, slipped into his mind and the older brother knew that it would be solely up to him to bear heirs to the Cousland line. Somehow, with a future male partner. The image of that bronze-skinned elf having a distended tummy came up and he couldn't contain his laughter at that preposterous idea of seeing that particularly elf pregnant. No way. There was just no way for this to occur.

"Fergus, are you alright? Maybe that Revenant hit you on the head a little bit harder than it looked." Hadrian had come closer to Fergus and two worried blue eyes looked over him, scanning for any missed wounds.

"I'm alright," Fergus replied, trying to control his laughter. This really wasn't the time or place to think of pregnant Dalish elves. Hadrian's eyebrow lifted upwards, the younger Cousland a little bit confused at the older Cousland's mannerisms.

"Ok, Fergus," Hadrian said and his head turned to face the inner wall that would lead to the atrium of the Redcliffe Castle. "We better go. I don't want to risk losing Teagan and anyone else. Loren, do you have enough mana left to heal us of any injuries?"

"Yes," the dark-haired mage nodded in answer and everyone was wreathed in blue before collectively sighing in relief. "Better?"

"Thanks, Loren. Let's go and see who's waiting for us." Hadrian said and the foursome headed to the large double doors, which opened for them easily enough. Too easy and all of them tensed as they entered the quiet entrance.

So used to the light of the outside world and the lamps lighting the haunted hallways, the darkness blinded them. They stumbled towards the end until they heard laughter that made the hairs on their necks stand up. It was a child laughter but it sounded eery and quite sinister. The way the sounds bounced off the stones walls was unnatural and what followed the laughter were scuffled movements. Then, another giggle, but not from a child.

As they entered the larger atrium, they found out who giggled and Hadrian's heart sunk at the sight of his friend posing in a ridiculous stance, his knees bent with his arms outstretched and hands wavering in the air. Teagan had his back to him so Hadrian and the others couldn't see the glazed look in the redhead's eyes. However, all of them knew that the younger Geurrin was entranced and Loren whispered something to Hadrian before he was interrupted by a blonde child's inquiry.

If the laughter made them all shiver, the demonic voice emanating from the young seven-year old Geurrin was worse. The innocence of the child's face was horribly offset by the voice and the eyes that glared at them in a disapproving way, like a child angry with having his toy being taken away from him.

In his case, the "toy" was Teagan, the village, everything that had occurred in the past week.

"Mother, who are these men who dare to invade my village?"

Isolde's eyes were cast down and her voice quivered in fear as she answered her child's question. "I..."

"Let him go!" Hadrian shouted angrily and he stepped forward. Alistair's hand caught him on the elbow but Hadrian brushed it off, not daring to move his eyes off from the possessed Connor.

"It was a fair deal! He offered himself for the father he loves so dearly," Connor growled and his hand shot forth, his finger pointing straight not at Hadrian but at the tall mage standing behind him. "He has mentioned you would come for him."

"He?" Hadrian asked and everyone turned their heads to Loren, who sadly shook his head and set his staff down, sending a resounding echo throughout the entirety of the room.

"Jowan is here, yes," Loren said calmly and fully aware of Cullen's angry gaze on him. "Where is he?"

The child threw its head back and released a bone-chilling laugh, one that made Hadrian sick to his stomach. "Mother dearest had him held, like a dog on a leash by one of your favourite men." The pale lips were pulled back into a taunting sneer. "What was that practice called?"

"You had him tranquiled?" Loren gasped and his face paled, so much so that Cullen, despite his anger at Loren's acknowledgment of Jowan's whereabouts, was ready to catch his mage should he fall.

The demon's face twisted into a grimace, as if sharing that same feeling of terror with Loren. "No. Not annulled. Tranquiled mages are of no use to us. They-"

The child suddenly clutched at his head, as if in pain, and he let out a hoarse scream of agony. "Mother! It hurts!"

Before anyone could do anything, the child ran from the room, his eyes wild and frightened. In his wake though were the entranced soldiers of the castle who bore down upon the foursome without hesitation and lacking any mercy.

-o0o-

"You tortured him?" Loren's eyes simmered with anger and Fergus knew full well that the power shifting beneath those emerald orbs was just the tip of what he could do.

Isolde turned her full gaze on him and she gasped as she saw not the figure of magic but of something far more deadly. Of a dragon that wanted to devour its prey.

"Y-yes, I thought…I thought he was responsible for Connor's magic being uncontrollable."

"And you secretly hired a rogue Templar to torture," Loren spat, his voice tinged with biting venom. If looks could kill, Isolde would be dust in the wind and then no more. "You know what Templars do to mages, _Arlessa Isolde_?" He advanced on Isolde, uncaring of how her guards moved in front of her, trying to block his way. The noble Orlesian, to the astonishment of her guards, merely brushed them aside with a command of 'no.'

"They beat you into submission and for most females and an unlucky few males, they rape you, taking what pleasure they can find in your begs for mercy." Loren's voice barely hitched but Cullen noticed the slight tremors of the tall mage's frame. Loren, despite showing off a strong front, was in actuality very vulnerable, but only those who know him intimately could tell.

Cullen's eyes suddenly flickered over to where the Couslands were standing, quiet but imposing. He had a feeling that they shared a rather long and friendly history with the dark-haired mage. It was only the rules of propriety and conduct that kept them in place. Otherwise, Isolde would be in serious danger, not from Loren himself, but from two of the oldest Teryns in the history of Ferelden. In terms of rank, the Couslands were above the Guerrins; the Guerrins' saving grace was the blood relation of the late Queen Rowan.

Isolde stood firm in her ground, her own red-brownish eyes glaring back at the advancing mage.

"Yes, I knew what Templars could do. I even…"

Loren's eyes widened at what she didn't say. His hands clenched into tight fists, the knuckles whitening in his rising anger.

"Isolde, you," Fergus said in utter shock, his own face pale at having heard what his friend's wife did. The other men and women were equally shocked and disgusted. Only Alistair and Hadrian weren't totally taken aback by her admission. In fact, Alistair gripped Hadrian's elbow with a surprising strength, the taller Warden doing his best to prevent his love from committing an action he would regret later.

"Eamon and Connor were suffering; this mage was responsible!" Isolde exclaimed. She pointed an accusing finger at a bound mage, whose head was bowed down. The man standing right behind him was not clad in templar regalia but Cullen recognized the man as the one who was suspended from the tower, the one who violated his Loren.

"You!" Cullen cried out, his sword already drawn out and prompting shouts from everyone nearby. The hooded stranger looked up and his thin lips pulled back into a grimace at being recognized by another templar. The grimace slowly turned into a smirk when the man laid eyes on the mage standing to the right of the templar.

"Cullen? I thought you might be here, especially with your precious mage hanging around here."

At the sound of his voice, Loren whirled around and if his former rapist had expected him to be scared of him, he was sorely wrong. Sadly though, Loren was furious, no, _livid_, at seeing this man who had abused him in the past.

Before anyone could do anything, Ser Isaac let out a loud roar, throwing virtually everyone to the ground; only Alistair. Fergus, and Cullen were the only ones who managed to stay standing on their feet. Cullen, slightly dazed, could only watch as Isaac muttered something, a familiar chant that Cullen knew by heart. The words brought fear into his heart as the mages present let out pained cries and subsequently slumped to the ground.

Ser Isaac, seeing his chance at finally getting his prize back, advanced on the stunned Loren, who was on his hands and knees, gasping for his breath. Loren managed to lift his head up and Isaac reveled in seeing those green eyes of his victim. How they had haunted him, from his suspension to the present. He did not see the overwhelming desperation like he wanted; instead, there was a grim acceptance of death and Isaac snarled out of frustration.

"If I can't have you, mage," Isaac sneered and he lifted his sword high, ready to deliver the final blow. "No one can."

"No!" Cullen shouted out and he threw himself at Isaac, forcing their bodies to crash to the stoned floor. Ser Isaac's sword flew out of the former Templar's hand but Isaac had bigger things to worry about than reaching for his sword. He had an armful of an angry templar.

Cullen's lithe build put him at a disadvantage when fighting against Isaac's much bulkier frame. The brown-haired rogue templar cuffed Cullen on the temple, dazing his attacker and allowing him to roll over on top of him. He hastily pinned his hips above Cullen's stomach and wrapped both hands around the neck.

Cullen struggled uselessly, lifting his hips in an attempt to throw off his opponent. The way Isaac positioned himself on Cullen made it nigh impossible for the attempt to succeed and Cullen's thoughts grew sluggish, as did his movements. He cursed the Maker for having his last sight on Thedas be that of his mage's oppressor.

Even the sneering face started to gray and Cullen gasped, his hands scraping against Isaac's face. The pressure around his neck then suddenly disappeared and his body felt lighter, as if he was flying to the Fade or something.

Someone tapped his cheek and murmured his name. Cool fingertips brushed along his brow and soon, the warm sensation seeped out from them and into his mind. The blonde gasped, taking in much needed air.

"Easy there, Cullen," Loren whispered calmly. "Slow, deep breaths or you'll hyperventilate."

"Loren…where? How?" Cullen's eyes searched the room frantically, looking for the templar that threatened his life. There, right behind Loren, he espied a bloody hand and his eyes widened at seeing the headless torso, the head having rolled underneath the wooden table set near the stoned wall.

"He's dead," someone else spoke and Cullen's head jerked upwards, his hand instinctively flying to a sword that was no longer in his grasp. "And we've got Connor in the next room. Luckily, the boy's in control enough to release his hold on Teagan and everybody else."

Hadrian offered a hand to him and Cullen took it, surprised at the inhuman strength behind it when he was virtually yanked to his feet. He almost stumbled back and Loren steadied him with a hand on his shoulder before finally going to kneel at the bound mage. There was a soft murmur of a spell and a low groan of pain emitted from the bound mage. Jowan slumped forward into Loren's arms, unconscious and bloody. Cullen would have dragged Loren back away from the man who started all of this but the distraught look on his friend's face stopped him.

"He's completely drained of mana..." Loren's voice cracked in sympathy. "But he's not tranquil. Thank the Maker."

"He started this!" Isolde screamed in a shrill tone. "If it weren't for him-"

"No," Hadrian cut in, standing between her and his friends. "It started because of your selfish needs! Eamon might have understood your concerns and even helped you. But, instead, you turned to secrecy and treachery."

"I only did it out of necessity." Isolde said defensively and Hadrian couldn't argue with that. People would do anything to protect their loved ones and his eyes closed at the images of what he might have to do in the end of all this. Of leaving Alistair behind and alone...

"Ok, now we've an angry child to deal with. How?" Alistair asked. The taller blonde had sheathed his sword and strapped his shield back. Blood had spattered all over the front of his golden armor and Cullen wondered how he got blood on him. Then, he glanced around the room and found several bodies lying around, most of them bearing the sigil of the Guerrin family.

"Are they-?" Cullen began to ask but the slight smile curling Loren's lips answered it for him. To support his theory, groaning sounds could be heard from the downed men and some of them shifted, even attempting to sit up despite their wounds.

"Loren here really outdid himself," Hadrian praised his friend with a grin on his pale face. The shorter warrior patted the pair on the shoulders before walking towards the other blonde and Fergus. From a distance, Cullen saw their heads bowed in together, as if discussing something private and not for their ears. A couple of times, Alistair's eyes had flickered over to him and Loren before returning to face the speaker of the group.

Before he could ask Loren about Jowan, however, the group broke up and approached Loren.

"Loren, is it possible to save Connor without killing him," came the weighted question.

Already distressed by the condition of his fellow mage, Loren at first didn't answer Hadrian's inquiry. Then, his eyes darkened in thought, something Cullen noticed it being a habit of his mage. After a few minutes of thinking, the tall mage then nodded in reply.

"Yes, there are ways," Loren slowly started to answer, as if unsure of whether or not to suggest them to his friends. Laying Jowan on the stoned floor, he rose to meet Hadrian's gaze.

"The ultimate result is sending the mage into the Fade to directly confront the demon. However, this can be done in two ways: lyrium with the full support of other mages or one mage through blood magic."

"Absolutely not!" Cullen cried out indignantly. "We're in this mess in the first place because of blood magic!"

Only Loren knew the truth behind the templar's words and he winced at how limited their options were. Time was essential in de-possessing a person and they all couldn't afford to waste it by arguing over the moral ambiguity of blood magic. Both Cullen and Alistair visibly refused to use that route but Hadrian neither opposed or supported the idea. Fergus honestly wasn't sure of who to side with but he had faith in his brother's decisions.

"Alright. We'll do this the right way," Hadrian finally said. "Loren and Cullen, you stay here and watch over Connor. Alistair, we're going to the Circle of Magi and see if First Enchanter Irving follows through his promise to help us. Fergus?"

"I'll stay here as well. Keep Isolde company," Fergus answered.

Hadrian sighed heavily and he wiped his forehead tiredly. It was going to be a long trek back to the Circle and Hadrian prayed to the Maker that they would make it back to Connor in time.

-TBC-

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I got caught up with exams and work. Also, a recent reviewer absolutely disliked this story, so much so that he or she left an entire essay to elaborate on how this story was akin to a 'Harlequin' novel and pleading to me that I should stop writing. When I read this review, I was honestly about to post this chapter but the review left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth and thus I postponed it as I was seriously considering on not posting/updating any new stories. But, then, I thought that only one out of 239 reviewers hated my story so I'm doing something right, right? Can't make everyone happy...

So, if you, the reader, dislike the story, please provide any helpful comments on how to improve the story mechanics, etc, etc instead of just spouting nonsense at me.

To end on a happier note, please leave a nice line or two!

Thanks!


	46. The Child of Stars, part II

**Chapter 46: The Child of Stars, part II**

The journey back to the Circle of the Magi was oddly silent except for the steady thumps of horses and harsh breathing emanating both from man and animal. The frigid cold was ignored, thanks to Morrigan's spell of warm and haste cast on them prior to their trek, but the incantation could only last for so long. It finally wore off a few miles before reaching Lake Calenhad but both Hadrian and Alistair kept going, knowing that every second mattered when a child's life hung in the balance.

They left the horses behind at the inn and, after paying the innkeeper a handsome amount of money to ensure the horses wouldn't be stolen by wandering vagrants and bandits. The Templar at the bridge attempted to stop them but the frightening visage of the man striding towards him withered his confidence and the poor man just untied the ropes that tethered the rowboat to the pier. The two armored men got unto the boat, which miraculously bore the tremendous weight of three armored men, and the Templar quickened his pace, pushing through the water with long, strong rows.

As soon as the boat landed next to the pier on the other side, the two hurriedly jumped up and were in the Tower before the boat stopped moving.

"Commander Greagoir, we must see to the needs of everyone living inside here, including our brethren," First Enchanter's voice sounded strained, as if his patience was wearing thin beneath the harsh edge of Commander Greagoir's manner, who was about to answer back when he scowled at something else. It made First Enchanter Irving turn round and his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise at seeing the two men so soon after the horrible incident.

"My Lord," Commander Greagoir respectfully acknowledged the noble with a nod and a neutral smile. "Alistair."

"It is good to see you two again, but where are your companions? Four of you were here last time," Irving asked gently, his demeanor of frustration changed entirely and it was as if seeing two different people of the same body.

"We need your help," Hadrian said and he was about to continue when Commander Greagoir appeared to be listening with great interest. He really didn't need to involve an irate Templar, especially when there was a scared, possessed child to be saved. "Can you bring several of your apprentices with you? _Without_ Templar escorts?"

"No, the Chantry Law forbids mages to be outside the Tower without Templar guards!" The older Commander couldn't contain his silence anymore. "Irving, you know what has happened here! I cannot let even one mage out of this tower-"

"It is not a topic of discussion, Greagoir," Irving replied angrily. "Also, this young man here," a hand gestured to the taller warrior standing to the right of Hadrian. "has been trained as a Templar. If it puts your mind at ease, though, I will only take four healers with me."

"Time is of the essence," Hadrian's voice was hard and he pinned Greagoir with a stoney glare, one that dared him to speak out against a high-ranking noble. "We must go now. Gather your people and meet us at the pier."

Hadrian had turned his back on the irate Commander, knowing that he may have made an enemy of the Templar Order. Quite frankly, the young man didn't really care about it. All he cared about was saving Connor's life and nothing else mattered. Connor reminded him of his deceased nephew and he vowed to save someone's family, even when he couldn't save his own.

The unusual bustle and haste did not go unnoticed by Alistair but he thought it wise to not say anything, at least not right now. Hadrian needed his support, not his complaints. Thus, he merely watched the man's back with one eye and keeping another eye on the small group of mages that now accompanied them back to the Redcliffe Castle. His templar instincts, ingrained in him by years of early training, couldn't be brushed aside by a few months of being at Hadrian's side. Yet, he trusted Irving enough to know those who would not so easily succumb to false promises of demons of the Fade.

At Irving's suggestion, the group decided to cut through Lake Calenhad, with the mages working the elemental forces of Nature to their advantage. Instead of the unforgiving rain and storms at the Lake, the weather stayed clear while they were there. The winds worked with them, giving the boat they were on a strong push until it could easily glide forward without any help from the two warriors rowing it.

The usual trek of four days was cut down to only two and, as they walked through the enormous wooden doors that guarded the inner keep of the castle, both Hadrian and Alistair hoped they weren't too late to save Connor.

-o0o-

"Loren, I do not like this," Cullen said plainly to the mage who hunched over another one, the latter deep in slumber or whatever state Ser Isaac had forced him in.

"I know, Cullen," Loren murmured quietly, "but if I was in Jowan's place, captured by him, would you be so willing to leave me in such a state?"

The blonde templar couldn't answer that question for he feared his answer. That he couldn't leave Loren like that. After _seeing_ what the former Ser Isaac had done to his own Loren, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Ser Isaac alive and well. His brown eyes sought out the headless body, with the head lying underneath the table, its eyes thankfully facing the stone wall rather than them. He would have imagined the two emotionless black eyes to be staring at them mockingly and that thought alone made him wish he killed the templar, not someone else.

"Isaac used a lethal dose of magebane on him," Loren muttered angrily, "no wonder he couldn't use blood magic to escape."

"Blood magic," Cullen spat out and he fought against the urge to physically pull Loren away from the other mage. Instead, he merely stood across from Loren, frowning at the sight of the man responsible for all this. His anger dissipated as soon as Loren looked at him, the way those emerald eyes seemed pained, just as they did on that horrible night.

"Please, Cullen, not now. We can talk after this whole incident is sorted out," Loren begged and Cullen's anger dissipated for now.

"What about the child?" Cullen asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from Jowan.

"He is stable for now but we should not follow him lest the demon manifests itself. This time, Connor would be too weak to push through the demon's influence."

"By the Maker," the templar cursed in frustration. "What happens if those two don't make it back in time?"

"Then we've no choice but to slay the child."

"Which won't happen," another voice interrupted them and the pair, along with everyone else including Arlessa Isolda, turned their heads to the entrance. There, standing in front of a group of mages, were Hadrian and Alistair, looking as fresh as if they hadn't traveled hard and long.

Loren groaned inwardly at the sight of First Enchanter Irving and he knew that escape without anyone else noticing was no longer an option.

As if hearing his thoughts, the First Enchanter immediately saw him and his surprise was visible through the astonished expression on his elderly face followed by a look of disappointment and a slight tinge of fear. However, the elder mage said nothing about Loren and he merely took his group of Master Enchanters to the next room, a title given only to those who passed the Harrowing and have served the Tower faithfully for at a decade or more. In other words, all of them were very skilled in the arcane arts. Luckily, Loren had a few tricks up his sleeve should they force both he and Jowan back into the Circle.

What happened next was anyone's guess but it was clear to Loren that some sort of decision had been made in the other room followed by a strange sound. A child's cry for his mother. But it sounded genuine and no longer influenced by the demon.

Everyone practically rushed to the other room, including the Arlessa's guards, and, though Loren desperately wanted to see this child that had everyone so concerned about, he also knew the grim truth of Jowan's involvement. Once the excitement and relief of the child's safety wear off, they would ask for retribution and Jowan would soon be in danger again.

"Cullen, we must go," Loren said with a firm tone. The templar appeared ready to refuse and cause a scene, which would bring the attention to the trio. He didn't truly want to cast a silencing spell on his protector and neither did he need to. Cullen just nodded in agreement, despite his previous outrage at Jowan. He touched Loren on the shoulder and whispered in the man's ear, "I'm with you, all the way."

Those words of support brought comfort to Loren and his heart was light as his lips moved to form the words of incantation: _bear us swift from this place of grief and despair, and we shall be lead to those who have need of us_. It was an ancient spell of transportation Loren discovered in one of the books of Arlathan, a book that survived the ancient city's fall and the years of strife following it. The three were wreathed in green and Cullen grasped Loren's shoulder tightly, to anchor himself to the one thing that gave his existence meaning, that made him living through the torture of Uldred and his cohorts worthwhile.

-o0o-

No one noticed the gentle green hues of light except for Hadrian himself for the young Cousland was the only one informed by Loren himself of their possible escape if events turned to their disadvantage. _Farewell, my friend, and may the Maker watch over you..._ Loren whispered to him in his mind and Hadrian let out an unsteady exhale. How in Thedas was he going to explain _this_ to Arl Eamon?

The releasing of Connor from the demon was nerve-wracking to watch indeed, even if it was literally seconds before Irving stood stock still, his eyes blank and his limbs slack, as the elder mage walked into the realm where others could not follow. Connor had screamed and thrashed, held down by his mother and Teagan on a makeshift cot, until he abruptly stilled before opening his eyes, clear and brown. Irving let out a groan, his eyes clenched tightly before falling into Hadrian's arms, the Cousland quick and strong enough to bear the weight of the First Enchanter.

"Irving?" Another mage asked, her hands trembling as they hovered over his supine form. Irving moaned and his eyes fluttered open. The other mages were both concerned and wary, unsure if Irving carried another passenger or not. "What is your most precious memory?"

A safety question and if the mage hesitated to answer or was too quick in the response, the others would be obligated to end him or her.

Irving sighed and he answered, slowly and steadily, "For the sun shining forth into Thedas and for men in understanding one another."

"Oh thank the Maker!" Another mage cried out happily and Irving was practically engulfed in the arms of his former students.

"My child, Connor?" Isolde's voice broke the happy reverie, "is he..?"

"He's alive and of his own will," Irving answered in a gentle tone as he slowly rose to his feet, aided by another male mage. "However, your child will be looked after in the Tower once this Blight is over."

It wasn't a suggestion but rather an order by the First Enchanter and with so many witnesses around, Lady Isolde couldn't deny anymore that her only son was mageborn and nobility were not immune to Chantry Law.

"Mother? What's happened? Why are there a lot of people? Hadrian? Fergus?" So Connor did recognize them after all. The little boy ran up to them and hugged them around their legs, literally bouncing up and down in joy at seeing his two favourite friends. It was as if he didn't remember what had happened before and perhaps it should stay that way as well, at least until he understood the dangers of magic.

"Connor is safe but there is still the matter of my brother." Teagan hated to disturb Connor's happy reunion with the Couslands. "Isolde, can you take Connor to your bedroom? We've important matters to discuss."

"What about that mage who was responsible for all this? Guards!" Three men stood to her attention and then promptly left the room only to exclaim that the three were no longer there. Isolde's eyes flashed in anger but her sharp tongue stayed in deference to her saved son.

"We'll worry about that later, Isolde. Now please go," Teagan pleaded, knowing how stubborn Isolde could be. The Orlesian Lady relented to Teagan's plea and she took Connor, promising her son that he would see those two again, but afterwards.

As soon as the duo vacated the room, Teagan wasted no time in relaying the status of Arl Eamon and an important piece of news: the Knights sent to the most western point of Thedas had not returned and there were rumors of a village with dark secrets hidden away from the rest of Thedas.

"A village? So close to the Frostback Mountains?" Fergus asked. Both he and Hadrian, with all their tutelage in the history and geography of Thedas, had never heard of villages so close to the dwarven lands. The harsh cold and unforgiving terrain was a primary defense of the dwarves, thus discouraging any vagrants who would think to loot their markets at the only entrance to Ozammer.

"Yes, unfortunately the dwarves have closed off all roads to Ozammer so tread carefully should you approach any dwarf there." Teagan warned them.

"Okay, we're going to need a good night's rest before heading out that way," Hadrian sighed heavily as he truly hoped he could get more than a night's rest after their righteous deed here at the Redcliffe Castle.

"We have rooms available here," the younger Guerrin offered but Hadrian declined.

"Thanks, but no. I have to speak to my friends back at camp. They are probably fraught with worry," Hadrian explained to appease Teagan's disappointment in his refusal to stay.

"I understand. And you, old friend?" Teagan looked to Fergus. "Connor would be pleased to see you and it's been several years since you last played games with him."

Fergus's brows furrowed in thought as the older Cousland mulled over the idea of spending more time with Connor and Teagan as well. This really was more of his brother's quest than his and something compelled him to stay. He had a feeling that he would need to head north, but more in an easterly direction, towards his homeland.

"I will stay here then," Fergus made his decision and Hadrian wasn't entirely surprised by his brother's choice to stay with the Guerrins.

"Are you sure, brother?" Hadrian wanted to ensure that this was what Fergus truly wanted.

"Yes, Hadrian. I'm afraid that you will have to leave me behind. But not for long, I think."

Hadrian tilted his head slightly in confusion to Fergus' cryptic remark. "In that case, I will leave several of my companions with you."

"Could you..." Fergus then hesitated, as if afraid of something. "Could you ask that elf to stay?"

"Elf? You mean Zevran? Why?" While he trusted that the assassin wouldn't betray him, at least not outright, Hadrian wasn't certain that Zevran would take Fergus hostage and demand a handsome ransom for his return. Then again, the images of Zevran viciously slashing out at those who tried to take Fergus from his blindspot certainly squashed that thought. Maybe having an assassin watch his brother's back would discourage any others from even thinking to assassinate his brother.

"I don't know. I honestly don't know."

It was that statement alone was what eventually convinced Hadrian to ask his elven companion to stay and keep an eye on his brother. Zevran's reaction to the request was not what Hadrian had expected either. The elf's slight bow and the deadly seriousness in his eye when Hadrian mentioned that someone may attempt to kill Fergus because of his noble status as the Teryn of Highever caused the younger Hadrian to worry and almost revoke his request.

"Do not worry so much, my lovely Warden," Zevran said in a soothing tone. "No one gets to even touch a hair on your brother's head without meeting my blades."

"Err...thanks, Zevran. This means a lot to me," Hadrian replied and he squeezed the elf's shoulder as thanks before heading out of camp, with Alistair and two other women following close behind him. "Oh, and no molesting my brother, Zev. He's not ready for that." The leader had shouted over his shoulder and the elven assassin just shook his head ruefully. He wouldn't dream of doing that, at least not with Fergus' permission of course.

As soon as they were out of earshot of Zevran and the others at camp, Alistair walked closer to Hadrian, only to ask him, "are you sure about that, Hadrian? Having an assassin watch your brother's back when he just tried to kill you a couple of weeks before?"

"Something tells me that Zevran wouldn't. At least not without being paid a good deal of coin and ample protection from the Crows."

"Hmm. Well, here's hoping that if Zevran does anything, at least he would warn Fergus first," Alistair grumbled and Hadrian let out a silvery laugh, slapping the other Warden on the shoulder before walking onwards.

"My brother may be a doofus," Hadrian said after calming down, "but he's very sharp when it comes to blades or jokes. He'll be fine."

"Hmm. Let's hope so or Morrigan may soon be targeting me for her gibes again."

The two women watching their unspoken leader and Alistair trade jokes and other nonsense with each other had their own conversation going on as well.

"Leliana," Wynne began to say to her redhead friend, "do you suppose there's anything different with those two?"

"Why do you ask such a thing? They've always been close." Leliana quipped lightly, keeping an eye on her two friends while watching their surroundings with another eye. As a bard, she learned very early on life to always stay aware of her environment, even during times of jest and relaxation. Such as now, the redhead noticed that some shadow had started to follow them, a lupine shape lurking in the safety of the bushes and trees that now cropped in their view as the foursome walked out of the village and into the cold wilderness that guarded the Frostback Mountains.

The shape was hazy at best, even when it was getting closer and closer to them. However, the redhead felt no malicious intent coming from the shape and she decided to not tell Hadrian. No point worrying her leader even further with news of an animal stalking them. Hadrian had enough issues to be stressed out about. Leliana knew that wherever they were going, he was going to need to focus all his attention on that quest.

-TBC-

A/N: Thank you my lovelies! Reading such encouraging reviews just made my days, even after a grueling exam. I hope you all enjoyed this new chapter and welcome any thoughts you may have. Thanks and have a great Thanksgiving holiday next week!


	47. The Child of Stars, part III

A/N: Hi everyone! I suddenly find myself with a lot more time on my hands than usual, thus the reason why two stories of mine have been updated already. Yay! Enjoy the new update and feel free to leave any comments!

**The Child of Stars, part III**

It took them several days to reach the quaint village and along the way, they encountered a rather odd thing in the middle of the woods. Alistair, not really watching where he was going, tripped up and he would have fallen over into the crate were it not for Hadrian catching a hold of him. Unfortunately, the centre of the taller knight's weight went too far over the edge and both tumbled down the side. The clang of armor echoed loudly in the empty woods and there was an exasperated shout of 'Alistair!' emanating from down below.

The suddeness of the knights' fall prompted the two ladies to rush to the edge of the hole and the sight of two men being tangled with one another caused Leliana to laugh whole-heartedly at them. The redhead was laughing at them so hard that she almost keeled over, her slender hands clutching at her stomach.

Wynne, on the other hand, was not amused and the elderly mage tapped her foot on the rocky ground.

"Gentlemen, if you don't mind, now's not the time to be horseplaying around." She said, loudly enough for the two fumbling men at the bottom of the crate to throw her dirty looks before commencing in disentangling from one another. Wynne, so used to admonishing children and adults, ruefully shook her head at the way the two men glared at her and leaned back.

Leliana's green eyes grew big when she saw that Wynne was indeed leaving the two men behind.

"Wait! We can't leave them!"

"I'm only going to make camp," Wynne replied haughtily and the older mage kept walking until she disappeared from Leliana's sight.

"What about Alistair and Hadrian?" She shouted after Wynne left them.

"They'll be fine! The worst they'll have is a wounded pride!" Wynne's remark drew a few smart replies from the bottom and Leliana couldn't agree more. She waved the two Knights a friendly farewell and giggled as Hadrian cried out, "hey wait! Don't leave me here with this clumsy prince!"

"Why you!" Alistair jumped on Hadrian's back and his greater weight bore the pair down. Hadrian let out a yelp of surprise and his words of indignation were muffled by the gravel and the dirt.

"lempghgoh!"

"What?" Alistair teased and he placed his full weight down on the man's back, relishing in the heat emanating from his friend and lover. Another muffled words of anger and Alistair still didn't move, not until Hadrian yielded to him and finally said, "ok, ok."

Pleased with his submission, Alistair drew back and allowed Hadrian to turn over to face him. Blue eyes glared back at him, full of life and stubbornness. The way Hadrian's eyes subtly softened into something Alistair couldn't really express into words made the blonde warrior groan deep in his chest. A hand reached out to him and Alistair closed his eyes as it cupped his cheek, the thumb gently caressing his cheekbone in soothing strokes.

"Alistair..." Hadrian called out to him softly and the heavier knight leaned down, bracing his weight on his hands which were placed next to the man's torso. "I..."

Whatever Hadrian had to say next were swallowed down as Alistair pressed his lips unto his and it was as if that alone triggered something for Hadrian noticed how close Alistair was to him, how their bodies fit together perfectly. His lean frame was no match for Alistair's much larger builk and Hadrian moaned in pleasure when Alistair rested against him. He was a little distraught in seeing how easily his legs opened, to allow the other warrior into his guard as it were.

The position they were in made him go red in the face but his embarassment was immediately forgotten as Alistair unintentionally pushed against him, trying to find a better purchase. A low, guttural moan came from his throat at the contact and it made Alistair withdraw himself, their breaths mingling still.

"Uh..." Hadrian began to say and he swallowed thickly, not really liking at how intensely Alistair stared back at him. "I...think...something's poking me..."

The look on that tanned face was priceless and Alistair immediately looked down, to their armor-coveed groins. "I don't think it's me, Hadrian."

"No, silly," Hadrian replied, groaning in discomfort as he rolled away from Alistair. "Geez, whatever it is, it's hard as a-"

"A stone," Alistair finished for him and the blonde reached out for the silver stone, its size the same that of a grown man's fist.

"What? What is that?" Hadrian peered at the object being rolled aroud in Alistair's palm. It was a stone, alright, but the light shone with a brilliance that rivaled even the most precious gems imported from the dwarven kingdom of Ozammar. The edges were jagged and Hadrian was relieved to see that Alistair still wore his gauntlets. Otherwise, his love would have deep cuts in his hand. However, the stone appeared supernatural or at least not of this world. From the size of the crate, Hadrian surmised that it fell from the sky and that alone made it priceless it seems.

"I'm not quite sure but maybe it can be used as a bartering tool?" Alistair suggested.

"Whatever it is, it certainly could be worth a fortune but finds like this are rare. Wait, didn't Mikael say something about this?"

"What? That he was looking for a challenge in blacksmithing? I don't think he meant using little stones as basis for his weapons."

Alistair was given an annoyed eyeroll by Hadrian, who simply took the stone from his fellow Warden and stored it in a small leather pack at his belt. The two men spent a good half a candlelight climbing their way out of the crater before finally appearing at Wynne's camp, tired and grumpy.

"See," Wynne told Leliana as she stirred the rabbit stew in her small bowl. "I told you they'll be here."

"And dirty, too." Leliana commented. "Did you two enjoy yourselves out there?"

"Shut up, Leliana," the two man groused at her simultaneously and the redhead couldn't help but stare at them as the pair made their way to their respective tents, thoughtfully setup by hers truly.

The happy incident was days past and the four of them felt it was needed as the gloominess of the silent village bore down upon them.

The sight of blood magic sickened the two ladies upon the discovery of an altar inside one of the villages and Alistair's suggestion that it could have been used as a place to cut meat was not helpful at all.

As the foursome delved even deeper into the village, the level of creepiness just kicked up a notch. First, it was the sight of crazed villagers rushing at them with swords and axes. The first thing Hadrian said when he came upon a woman sprinting at them, a pitchfork in her hand, was, "you got to be joking! You're coming at fully-armored men with a damn pitchfork?"

"Watch your language, young man!" Wynne cried out before chanting a spell of stone. The large boulder struck down a mage not far down the way and his death caused a paralysis spell to disappear and allow Leliana to move again.

The second level of creepiness was actually seeing and hearing a mage, of all people, preach to the villagers, telling them that Andraste vowed vengeance against those who would sully her name and harm the faithful people of Haven.

"So, an actual male priest of the Chantry? Who knew?" Alistair commented cheerily as he struck down the mage that threatened to freeze Hadrian.

"Apparently, they knew," Hadrian pointed out as he sheathed his sword back into its scabbard, along with the shield of Highever. "Now, we just have to find our missing friend and get on with this crazy quest."

It was Alistair who discovered the missing Genitivi and his shout brought the other three to him. Hadrian sighed in relief that their only clue to the Sacred Ashes was alive and not badly hurt. Once he regaled the reason why they had come looking for him, Genitivi asked about his assistant, Weylon.

"I'm sorry, but someone found him first and took his place at your home."

Genitivi's head bowed then and the elder man was silent for a few moments before lifting his head and his eyes, though misty with unshed tears, were resolute and firm. "Help me up then and I shall lead you to one of the greatest discoveries of our age."

The elderly man lead them up the steep hill and then the stairs that lead them to the only entrance of the temple. He managed to open it with Erik's medallion, the only piece of jewelry found on the deceased's body, and everyone felt the temperature drop by at least twenty degrees as they stepped through the ancient doorway.

There were simply no words that could describe the splendor of the ancient hall they all walked into and even Alistair himself became speechless. The hall or what could easily have been the atrium to the temple was symmetrical, with intricate designs etched into the stoned walls and floor. The immensity of the hall made Hadrian feel insignificant and he was awed that such a thing could stand so strong against time itself. The stoned walls were smooth and the only indication that the temple was as old as the first coming of Andraste were the many shades of colour, ranging from white to even black. The further they explored, the lighter the stone became until it was pure alabaster shining forth.

The foursome had all hoped that they could just walk through the empty hallways, unhindered and free to reach their goal. Thus, they were all rendered speechless when they encountered not only crazy cultists but dragons also and there were several close calls that worried Alistair, most particular when Hadrian was right at the centre of them all.

Something had compelled him to guard and protect this man. It didn't help that these feelings intensified almost tenfold as soon as they entered the temple and once they pushed through the angry and vengeful mobs of Kolgrim, it merely increased to almost a full-blown migraine.

They had finally reached outside, panting heavily from their tiresome skirmishes with those who fought them. However, as they approached the end of the ramp, a loud screech ripped through the air and heavy rumbles echoed all around them.

"Shit! Hide!" Hadrian hissed to his friends and they all hide behind the columns that supported the backend of the temple. As soon as Hadrian pushed himself against one, another fearsome shriek could be heard, this time, it was right above them. The proximity of such a fearsome creature made them all hold their breaths in, afraid that any sound they would make would draw the creature's attention to them.

Once the thunder ceased and they all could see the dragon settle comfortably on a rocky ledge far ahead of them, the group of four slowly headed down the ramp, trying very hard not to disturb the dragon. It was not to be, thanks to Alistair's clumsiness once again and his three friends could only stare in horror as Alistair rolled down the ramp until his back hit the gong. The unnatural silence was terribly broken by the sound of Alistair hitting against the object.

"Fuck! Alistair!" Hadrian cursed angrily at his friend and he rushed to his friend, who was busy shaking his head to clear the lingering fogginess. Hadrian was so intent on reaching his friend and fervently hoping that the dragon hadn't heard their scuffle that he didn't hear his friends' shouts until it was too late. Just as he started to pull Alistair up, he saw something coming at him and then shoved Alistair down in time for him to be ruthlessly pushed away by a dragon's tail.

Alistair could only watch helplessly as the High Dragon's tail swept Hadrian as easily as if the other man was a limp doll. There was a sickening crunch when Hadrian slammed into the slope of an embankment and the blonde warrior felt his heart lurch as Hadrian slid down the slope only to lie still at the bottom.

His heart told him to go to Hadrian's side, to drag him to safety but common sense ruled out. The best thing Alistair could do was to distract the dragon to him. He grimly hardened his heart and placed his helm back, hoping to the Maker that there was some ancient protection spell left in the Warden Commander's armor.

He had no idea what came over him throughout the battle with the High Dragon. The need to protect was what drove him on, even after countless times of having brushed so close to death. He could honestly say that a dragon's mouth stunk of death and rotten meat. Of course, that was before the agony of being bitten ripped through him. He had somehow borrowed his lover's shield and it was the only barrier between him and certain death. It worked to his favor, now matter how much the dragon tried to snap its jaws close and crush him. The tongue slid wildly beneath him and Alistair had a crazy thought that the dragon was trying to swallow him whole! _Oh no you don't!_

He held tight to the sword in his hand and just when he almost fell into the maws of death, the warrior managed to pull his sword up in front of him and plunged it deep into the side of the dragon's throat. A horrible shriek deafened his ears and stunned the warrior enough for him to release his grasp on the weapon that delivered a fatal blow to the dragon.

The world tilted all of a sudden and Alistair's stomach seemed to have jumped up into his mouth as the dragon fell on its side, blood welling up inside with such force, it pushed Alistair out, the teeth biting deep into his sides as he rolled over and out unto the ground.

Time slipped for him and the next thing he was aware of was that same wolf peering curiously down at him. Its eyes were golden, not the familiar blue of another wolf that he had seen. It was also bigger and he wondered if maybe that he had dreamt of fighting a dragon. Instead, he fell from a wolf's bite and that would be funny, indeed. To have survived countless battles with the darkspawn and the undead, only to die from an infected bite.

_You have shown great strength, Alistair Theirin, but the true test is yet to come. Sometimes, the greatest foe is not the sharp bite of a weapon but the doubt that lurks deep in the human heart._

"...damn it...Alistair!...Alistair!"

The shouts sounded so far away and Alistair just wanted to sleep, even with a wolf hovering dangerously close to him.

_Sleep, Golden One, you will need it..._

Alistair, for once, didn't question the order coming from a supernatural being and he no longer feared the darkness that was creeping around the edges of his vision.

-TBC-

P.S. I know the chapter is a little rushed but it would really make my day if you review! I promise that for every review I receive, it will be paid forward by reviewing other stories under my signed name, Shenko007. Thanks again! :D


	48. The Child of Stars, part IV

**Chapter 48: The Child of Stars, part IV**

-o0o-

**Uncle Gamlen's House, Lowtown,**

It had been a month since their arrival into Lowtown, dirtied and down on their spirits, but the Hawkes and Anders managed to avoid the terribly scrutiny of the Templars. That didn't mean they had a couple of close calls and the last one had truly convinced the elder Hawke to decide against staying in Kirkwall, despite his mother's wishes.

As it was, the two were having a rather heated discussion in the dainty room of the hovel they all occupied.

"Mother, we can't stay here, no matter how much you wish to."

"But, if you can just give Kirkwall a chance, sweetheart," his mother pleaded, her eyes wet with moisture. Her lips trembled at the thought of having to leave her hometown so quickly, just when they found her old home, her heritage, everything that meant to be an Amell. She was not stupid, however, especially when so many things have been going on in Kirkwall, so many unwanted changes against mages.

She had wanted to blame it on the newcomer in their family. Arren was so like his father, always wanting to help people but well aware of the dangers if he was too involved in other people's affairs. Ever since the blonde mage, Anders, had come into the family, the eldest was too concerned about the heavy presence of templars and his worrisome had infected Bethany too. No, that wasn't fair. Leandra couldn't blame everything on Anders, who had done more than his fair share of work around the house. Being the only healer in the family, the blonde mage was all too busy tending to Arren's hurts as well as his family's. She too feared the Templars and if it weren't for the Blight, she honestly had to say that she would never have brought her family back to Kirkwall. There was just too much history there, too much unresolved issues that still haunt her to this day.

"Believe me, mum," Arren replied, taking her trembling hands in his own. "What happened last week...it was through sheer dumb luck we didn't get discovered by Meredith and her cohorts."

Leandra nodded and she really did try to withhold the tears that threatened to spill out. _A lady of grace does not show tears in front of anyone._ That's what her mother told her all those years ago and to this day, she had never cried, not even when her eldest child had carried Malcolm's broken body back to their cottage three and a half years ago.

"Also, I've been having these strange dreams..." Arren's sentence trailed off and her son turned away, his eyes not directly looking into hers.

"What? What is it, dear?" Leandra asked and she gently but firmly brought her son's face back to her own, trying to see what Arren was afraid of saying to her.

Arren's eyes held a tinge of a foreign emotion, something that the mother of the three had never seen before. It was fear and Leandra's heart broke at the sight of it in her son's golden eyes.

"I fear, that if we stay, then Dad won't be alone anymore and..."

Arren would have continued but her slender finger pressing against his lips stopped him and she hugged her child tightly.

"I understand, Arren," she told him. "But Carver, he would want to stay..."

"I know. I already talked to him about it. As soon as I said that you're coming with us, he reluctantly agreed with me."

Arren gave her a lopsided grin and Leandra let out a sigh of relief, seeing the old Arren peek through the mask of experience and loss.

"But where..."

"We're going back, mother. Back to Lothering. I've a feeling Father wanted us back there anyways."

"But, it's not safe! The darkspawn-" Leandra heard her voice tremble as she protested and she hated it when she sounded so weak, not so like the noble Amells that lived in Kirkwall all those years ago.

Arren for his part looked all the part of his proud heritage. Sharp golden eyes framed by slender eyebrows that, along with his high cheekbones, gave him a regal look. The tall mage bestowed her a reassuring smile while holding her hands in his own. As Leandra glanced at their joined hands, she became startled at the sudden change in them. It felt like only yesterday when she dabbed at her eldest hand for a deep cut he had acquired by climbing a tree and falling down due to a loose branch. The hand had accidentally brushed too hard against a straggler and Leandra remembered dressing the tiny hand before kissing it. Now, though, his hands encompassed hers. The palms were broad and heavily calloused from lengthy periods of wielding a staff. Strong hands. If she didn't know any better, she would have figured her son to be a warrior of high status, perhaps serving as part of the Royal Military of Ferelden.

"Mum?" Leandra exhaled softly, a little startled at the question that interrupted the quiet interlude between mother and son.

"I'm alright. I just-I just realized how much you've grown," she replied in a quiet tone, her finger following a deep crease in his hand, a line that wasn't there a few years ago.

"It's ok, mum. It'll be ok," Arren said and he embraced his mother, giving her all the support she needed through the strength of his arms, the sound of reassurance in his voice.

Mother and son spent a long time in that state, each quietly contemplating the moment and just relishing in the fact that the family, while not entirely whole, stood strong and unyielding before the calamity of the Blight and its effects.

Later that night, with the option of the teleportation spell temporarily gone, they had discussed their future voyage back to Ferelden in the pale light of their lantern and, under a dark sky, boarded a two-mast ship which was heading out to Amaranthine. However, as Arren himself stood on the deck of the boat, he thought he heard something, a cry of exultation, and the dark-haired mage looked up.

It was a dark night, with the moon still waiting to make its appearance from behind thick clouds, but Arren's keen eye could ascertain a silhouette gliding through the darkness. For just a moment, the moon made a quick appearance but it allowed Arren to see the shape clearly and his heart stopped. There was no way. They were told to be extinct after the Fourth Blight, several centuries ago!

As if sensing that someone had seen it, the creature gave one last shriek, a sound that made Arren's hairs stand up, before vanishing entirely, never reappearing later that night, even with a full moon.

-o0o-

**Old Temple of Haven**

The valley between the Old Temple and the other side of the mountain was oddly quiet except for the soft crackling of fire and hushed murmurs of the people sitting next to the campfire. The gigantic body of the recently killed High Dragon stunk up the valley and it was only thanks to the freezing temperature that it hadn't begun to rot. At least not yet. However, the coldness did not bode well for the only person lying underneath a heap of blankets. The man shivered and he tossed restlessly beneath the heavy weight of woolen covers and bear skins. Even Wynne's warmth balms barely kept him warm and preventing his body from entering hypothermia. The elderly mage tsked in slight annoyance when her patient thrashed around so much that his only source of warmth shifted away from him. Hadrian, on the other hand, merely stared at the injured man with worried blue eyes. His nails, bit down so much that the flesh underneath started appearing, were worn and filthy. Lines decorated his haggard face and Wynne started to think that she may have another patient on her hands, again.

The battle with the High Dragon, fierce and overwhelming, took a heavy toll on all of the four travelers. Already weary from fighting with the unexpected cultists inside the Old Temple, the High Dragon almost made a meal out of them. The fact that Hadrian was forced out of the fight so soon cemented the doubts that had clawed at the two ladies. Wynne had immediately enforced her defenses by covering her frail body with the stones from the earth. Leliana's arrows shot straight and true, and miraculously one struck one of the eyes, rendering the High Dragon blind on their side. It was, in fact, the only reason the two ladies survived and for Alistair to make his finishing move within the jaws that held him.

It took the two ladies a few moments to realize that High Dragon had fallen, the sudden silence falling on them shocking them into a dazed stupor. The eyeless side of its face stared fathomlessly at them and their enemy looked more frightening in death than when it lived. A pained moan to the left of them was what spurned them into action and it wasn't until midday that a fire was going and Alistair's wounds were tended too. Hadrian had only suffered a mild concussion, an injury that a simple kit could fix.

"Damn it, Alistair," Hadrian muttered angrily, his hand draping a small cloth over his lover's forehead. "Come on. You have to pull through this. We've still got the second part to go through, right?"

A pained moan was all he got out of Alistair and Hadrian squeezed his hand to let the other warrior know that he wasn't alone.

"He'll be fine," Wynne tried to assuage the young Warden and it worked for a little while until Alistair's fever spiked in the next few candlelights. At this time, the only healer in the group was too busy to reassure the pair that Alistair would be fine.

The next morning was undoubtedly even colder than the previous day and Hadrian had huddled closer to his wounded partner, hoping that his own body heat would stabilize Alistair's. As it were, the action was unnecessary and prompted a happy moan from the blonde warrior.

"...H-Hadrian?"

The other warrior started at the hushed whisper of his name and he leaned over Alistair, eyes peering anxiously at the rousing man.

Hadrian didn't have to wait long and he gifted Alistair a beautiful smile upon seeing dark brown eyes.

"What? Did I trip again and knock myself out?" Alistair joked and he attempted to sit up. Hadrian put a hand on his chest to stop him but apparently Alistair's body did the work for him. The blonde groaned and he winced. His hand reached for his side and the blonde's eyes widened at the sight of his bandaged torso.

"I guess I did more than trip and get knocked out, huh? Ow! Hey!" Hadrian had slapped him across the back of the head, gently of course, but the silver-haired warrior had to physically do something to his stupid, clumsy, idiotic-

"But, I did kill that mangy beast," Alistair's smile grew even bigger when the blonde espied an enormous violet lump resting a few feet away from them.

Hadrian just shook his head and corrected his current line of thoughts describing his lover. Brave Prince. The word 'Prince' felt weighty, perhaps more so now than the original announcement, right before they crossed the bridge to Redcliffe Village. At that time, Hadrian had pushed it in the back of his room as he had more pressing concerns at the moment. First, Fergus was a highly unexpected and very welcomed surprise. Secondly, the Redcliffe Village had to be saved and the presence of Loren didn't help anything either. Now though, with the threat of either being killed by a High Dragon or failing in their mission to save the Arl just being the only two issues, other concerns cropped into Hadrian's head. Alistair was the late King's brother and Hadrian became worried at how Alistair would react when he would eventually find out that Cailan had more than just a passing fancy with his current lover. Would he be pissed and leave in a huff? Or maybe do something worse-to be disappointed with him and stay with him, but as friends instead. Shit, scratch all that out. Alistair almost died. While the Blight may take one of their lives at the end of it all, Hadrian preferred it to be his. Alistair's life is more important, now more than ever. Ferelden needs a King and Alistair's the only heir to the throne. Either way, he was going to lose him...

Apparently, Hadrian took too long to answer one of Alistair's question for a finger tilted his chin up.

"Hadrian?"

"It's nothing," Hadrian couldn't stand the look of genuine concern in those soft orbs and he so much wanted to tear his eyes away.

"I'm here," Alistair whispered to him, his lips a mere inch away from his. "And I know what's been bothering you but we'll sort this out, ok?"

"You do?" Hadrian's eyebrows almost went into his hairline.

"The whole Prince thing. I should have known something was bothering you. You bite your nails, for one thing, and-"

Now, it was Alistair's turn to look away, finding the dragon corpse a more interesting sight to gaze at rather than Hadrian's own handsome face. "I also had a pretty good hunch that you and Cailan...umm..."

"Who told you this?" The sudden change in Hadrian's demeanor, from demure to almost snarling in his face, completely took Alistair by surprise. Those blue eyes flashed angrily at _him_ and the blonde wished he was still unconscious or maybe just kept his mouth shut. He really was too honest for his own good. That's what Duncan had told him anways.

"Actually, no one told me. I kind of saw how you reacted to King Cailan at Ostagar, before...before everything happened. I may be seen as oblivious or ignorant in some cases, but I'm not stupid."

"Why-why didn't you mention this?"

"Well, uhh, at that time, we weren't...I didn't think..." Alistair stammered nervously and Hadrian's anger melted away at the way his lover was trying to find the right words to make it. One of Alistair's greatest quality was his inability to lie and Alistair's admission lightened some of the burdens that weighed heavily on Hadrian's mind. Alistair was still stammering and Hadrian knew the only way to halt his stuttering.

The kiss felt deeper somehow and it effectively stopped the then constant dribble of nonsense coming out of Alistair's mouth. All that came out now was a heartfelt groan, the vibration sending pleasurable jolts through the both of them.

They would have continued kissing and perhap gone further than that were it not for a quiet 'ahem' from a spectator. Both men's eyes popped open and almost jumped from each other, acting like a pair of teengers getting caught by their parents while snogging. As one, they slowly turned to the direction of the cough and collectively exhaled a sigh of relief.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but supper is ready," Leliana announced her presence unnecessarily and the twinkle in her green eyes had them thinking that she rather liked the show of two hot men making out. "Nice to see you well and awake, Alistair."

The redhead smirked and Alistair, puzzled at her strange smile, glanced at her and back at Hadrian before staring down at the obvious tent in his smallclothes.

"Oh...uhh...Leliana..." Alistair stammered again and Hadrian let out a light-hearted laugh, a sound that had Alistair _almost_ forget his embarassment over his visible erection. The archer, thank the Maker, had already left and thus spared Alistair any need to apologize for public decency.

Alistair was still blushing, even well after Leliana left, and Hadrian thought it was cute. Yes, cute. Cute and handsome, and very well endowed. Heat rose in his body and the silver-haired Cousland couldn't help but imagine the two of them rolling around in the dirt, making tender love under the pale moonlight. What surprised him even more was at how open he was to the idea. A few months ago, at Ostagar, he would have blatantly denied having any such thoughts. Now, having faced Alistair's near brush with death, Hadrian didn't want anyone else to accompany him to the final fight with the Archdemon.

"After this is done, do you want to see how I look under a full moon?" The question, though innocent in appearance, was in fact a very intimate one and one Hadrian didn't ask freely. As Zarieth had told him before, no one saw his other form and lived to tell the tale. In fact, Alistair was the only exception.

The blonde inhaled sharply and for a moment, Hadrian thought it was wrong to ask him of that. He was about to say something else and leave when strong arms suddenly embraced him, bringing their bodies closer.

"Yes," Alistair breathed against his ear, sending another shock of pleasure down his spine. "When this is over, you can show me whatever you want."

Hadrian relaxed against the other body and he relished this moment with all his heart. As he closed his eyes and drifted lazily into a light slumber, he thought he heard a wolf cry near them. It rang of triumph and acceptance, feelings Hadrian himself was experiencing. Today was going to be a good day.

-TBC-

A/N: Not sure if this chapter was rushed or not. I tried to emphasize Hadrian's acceptance of Alistair being his lover, despite his relation to the late King Cailan. Hope the message got through!

Many thanks to who read this story and especially to the following, _loyal_ readers who left something behind afterwards: d**avid9999, kogouma, Snowhelm, Sculla, kdarnell2, Biganimefan2, gatorsnacks, **and **the kid.**


	49. The Child of Stars, part V

**Chapter 49: Child of Stars, part V**

Alistair swallowed and the feeling of untold sorrow overwhelmed him to the point that he desperately wanted to take the quietly sobbing man in his arms and hug him tightly, to never let him go. However, a moment such as this deserved a moment of privacy.

The ghostly apparation of an older man, who bore startling similarities to Hadrian, talked to his lover in low, soft tones. Perhaps the ghost did not want everyone to hear their conversation and thus, he bid everyone to step away even further, to give the couple much needed space of their own.

The blonde warrior had not expected to be called upon so soon and it was only because of Leliana's light pat on his shoulder that he was made aware of it. Leliana's green eyes simmered with unshed tears and her pale face told him all that he wanted to know.

As he approached closer to the pair, the ghost glanced at him and gave him a knowing smile before disappearing into the ancient stones. Hadrian was oddly quiet throughout the reminder of their excursion, only talking when necessary.

Alistair didn't push his lover into talking about what had transpired between him and the apparition. Seeing the striking semblance between the two had him think, and correctly so, that the ghost was his father. Oh Maker...then that means...

Suddenly, it all makes sense now. The family sword and shield. The wolves' mourning of his mother's birthday and Hadrian's feverish murmuring about his mother and fire. The unusual way his lover was protective of Fergus...

Initially, Alistair's first instinct upon seeing Hadrian hug the brunette so tenderly was to challenge him in a duel. Then, the unexpected revelation that Fergus was _not_ an ex-lover but rather his brother instead absolutely confounded him and the others as well. All of his companions had no idea that Hadrian even had a brother let alone come from such a powerful noble lineage. If it weren't for King Calenhad's successful unification of Ferelden, the line of Cousland would have been one of royalty instead.

Forced into fighting against their own selves, shaded as they were, frightened Alistair and he could never forget striking Hadrian's shade down as it tried to backstab his lover. The grim acceptance of death etched on that shade's face forever haunted him, from that hollow room to all the way of the small altar they had finally come upon.

_Release all the trappings of thy mortal life and only the worthy shall pass_

Any other time, the blonde warrior would have said something light and funny. _Oooh. I didn't know Andraste wanted to see us naked!_

However, the jest died in his mouth as soon as he saw Hadrian's dejected form. He couldn't see the moistened eyes through the silver hair but it was all too clear to Alistair that his lover was still feeling the effects of the Gauntlets. Seeing as Hadrian couldn't really think straight and the two ladies shifted uncomfortably at the subtle meaning behind the inscription, Alistair opted to be the brave and stupid one this time around.

"Alistair! What are you doing?!" It was Leliana who had cried out at him and her exclamation caused Hadrian to whip around, shock and anger rising in those azure eyes of his.

"Getting naked, alright? Geez, Leliana...you don't have look so closely at me, you know!" Alistair's innocent reply brought a flush to the redhead's face and Hadrian gave a small smile.

"Alright, everyone," Hadrian's voice sounded stronger this time. "drop everything and hope to the Maker that this embarrassment is worth walking through that fire."

"If not, then I will certainly chase all three of you down in the Fade," Wynne replied and, for her dignity, everyone had turned away to allow her to undress in privacy.

Alistair took a deep breath and exhaled unsteadily before taking that first step through the fire. It burned, but not in the usual, painful way. Instead, it seared right through him, into his very soul itself. Soft whispers echoed in his mind and he could a young woman singing quietly in the background. The song was in another language, words from another time, but it lightened his heart of his burdens. _Do not forget this feeling, young warrior, for dark times are ahead of us... _Someone whispered to him and he gasped, his eyes opening only to find himself on the other side of the fire, with his three friends at his side.

"Alistair?" Hadrian asked him and a hand palmed his shoulder in question.

"I'm alright. But did you hear that voice? Was someone else here in this room with us?"

"No, not unless you count the statue of Andraste as an actual being," Hadrian answered and Alistair glanced in the direction where Hadrian had pointed.

There, placed on top of another altar, was Andraste's statue. Her head was turned upwards, towards the heavens, and her hands were out. One was open while the other guarded her heart. The eyes were blank but Alistair could swear that she was looking down at them with approval at their passing of her test.

"You have passed the Gauntlet," a deeper voice intoned throughout the room and the older warrior-priest simmered into being. "Thus, you have proven yourselves worthy to look upon the ashes of our Andraste."

"Thank you," Hadrian bowed his head and the priest smiled at him before disappearing, never to appear again.

"Come on," the young Cousland bid his friends to him as he walked up the ramp, "let's go and save the Arl."

-o0o-

"How does he fare?"

The lilt at the end of the sentence caused his hairs to stand up and Fergus knew exactly who was behind him. His brother had told him that the elven assassin, despite his amorous and cocksure attitudes as well as his shady past as a paid killer, could be trusted. However, self-preservation bid the taller man to be on guard, in case he would have a knife at his back. Thus, his hand automatically reached for the small dirk at his side and there was a soft 'tsk' sound coming from the blonde elf.

"If I had wanted to kill you, handsome one," the elf purred but made no move otherwise. "You would be dead before your hand touches that knife, however closely hidden it is."

The threat didn't ease up the tension between the two and Zevran knew he made a mistake as soon as he saw Fergus whirl around, anger flashing rather hotly in those dark brown eyes.

_Oh my...such a wonderful beast of a man he is, despite his nobility. _Zevran had the full intention of seducing Hadrian's older brother but when he accidentally overheard their discussion upon the initial reunion,all plans became null. He knew all too well of having lost a loved one and Fergus lost both his immediate family and that of his own in one night. The assassin didn't believe in such things really but he truly hoped that they all found peace in another life. Thus, he made a lot of effort in trying _not_ to be the seductive little bastard that he knows he is.

"Calm yourself, I merely wish to see how you are doing," Zevran said, raising his hands up in surrender as he tried to place himself in a non-threatening manner to appease the man.

"I am doing fine, assassin," Fergus hissed the word of Zevran's title and the elf winced, although he didn't know why. Zevran had been called many names, mostly of 'bastard' and 'whore son' but they've never truly hurt him. Hearing it come out of this noble man's mouth in disgust cut him though and he did another thing that he vowed would never do: cut short the seduction and run.

"Perhaps, you wish to be alone, yes?" Zevran asked politely, giving the other man a choice to say 'yes'

It shocked him when Fergus apologized for his rudeness and asked him to stay if he wanted.

"You know, Hadrian didn't mention that he even had a family until we arrived at Redcliffe," Zevran said almost hesitantly, trying to gauge the other man's mood when talking about family and such. If it was positive, he would continue. If not, well, they could always talk about Hadrian himself.

"Really?" The brunette's eyebrows shot straight up in surprise. A positive clue, Zevran continued on with the topic.

"Of course, considering what he told us before he left for that Haven village, I'm not surprised,"

"Yes...yes. Though, considering your profession, I can't imagine you would know about how it would feel to lose loved ones, especially..."

Fergus' voice trailed off and the other man turned his back on the elf, a rather bad move on the man's part in Zevran's opinion. However, _that_ topic would be discussed at a much later time.

"I may be an assassin, Fergus Cousland," Zevran said coolly, "but don't think that I lack any experience in losing the one closest to me. Should you wish to apologize to me later on, you can find me in the third room away."

Before Fergus could stop him, the elf had already withdrawn himself from the Arl's room. The heavy silence that came afterward was stifling and Fergus had a hard time breathing, even with the voice inside his head trying to calm him down.

_It was not his blade that slew our loved ones. Do not blame him for what he cannot help to be._

The wolf's hypnotic voice didn't help and the air in the Arl's room thickened until Fergus found himself gasping for breath. _No, I thought...I thought I was over this!_

Giggles of his son drifted hauntingly in the room and the room coalesced into the same one where he had left them on that dreadful night.

_And I'll slay them with my soword!_

_That's sword, little Oren. Sword._

_Fergus, I don't want you to go..._

_Fergus...Fergus..son..._

"Fergus!"

Someone called his name and Fergus had difficulty in keeping out the voices, the images of his past.

"No...please...I didn't want to leave you...didn't want..."

"Damn it! Someone's poisoned his drink! Get me Bann Teagan now!"

"Poisoned..?" Fergus struggled and discovered that his arms weighed heavily. Lifting a finger was out of the question. Other voices came into the room and someone had gently supported his head on a pillow.

"Drink or you'll die and Hadrian would truly be the scion of his family," that voice urged him on and Fergus weakly drank the contents given to him.

"...I'm...sorry..." Fergus croaked and the last thing he saw was that fair elf's face, so different and yet so similar to his late wife's.

-TBC-

A/N: Oooh! Someone's managed to slip past Zevran and poison Fergus! What's going to happen next?! And if Fergus dies, will Hadrian ever forgive Zevran for having broken his promise? Will Zevran forgive himself?


	50. Andraste's Blessing

**Chapter 50: Andraste's Blessing**

The party of four had finally arrived at Redcliffe Castle, exhausted and relieved from their successful mission. Hadrian, however, sensed that something was amiss in the lack of a welcoming pary at the entrance. First, Zevran had never failed in trying to ambush him with a kiss or a hug, an action that usually prompted a low growl from his fellow Warden. Secondly, he smelled a different kind of sickness around the castle, like poison.

It could have originated from the Arl himself, but this smell of oil and blood lotus was foreign, new to his olfactory senses. His inner wolf was strangely silent and his chest hurt, as if someone had shoved a sword into his heart.

Even Wynne appeared worried about the strange silence and her silver brows furrowed in thought. She whispered something to Leliana and the redhead nodded in agreement to whatever the older mage had said to her.

They entered the castle and the smell of poison thickened, so much so it made Hadrian want to gag and expel his breakfast. No one could be found waiting by the warm hearth and the group headed out to the Arl's private room, only to find all of their companions standing around.

The presence of his companions, who all turned their heads to the group's arrival, was surprising and would have been welcoming were it not for the fact that the blonde elf, Zevran, was standing guard over whoever laid on the bed next to the Arl.

"Hey, what's going on?" Hadrian asked as he approached the elf and his heart literally stopped for a few seconds at the sight of the bed's occupant. Colour drained so rapidly from that proud and noble face that Alistair thought his lover was going to collapse. The blonde warrior quickly drew closer to the other warrior's side, a broad hand reaching out to touch the small of his back.

"Fergus! What happened to him?" Hadrian asked as he felt Fergus' forehead with the back of his hand. It was cool and clammy. Good. Whatever he had must have already been flushed from his body. But how? These thoughts circled each other in Hadrian's head and the only thing the silver-haired warrior caught from Zevran's explanation was that they had already caught the culprit.

"What? That elf we saw in that Lloyd's tavern?" It was Alistair who asked that question and Zevran's head nodded slightly. "But we saved him! Why would he do this?"

"The poison is slow-acting but very deadly. He is lucky that it is also a common type used by the Crows," the elf continued and he took out a small vial from a pouch stored in the tight space between his undergarment and chestplate.

Alistair held the small vial in his hand, the clear liquid swishing harmlessly in its container. He shuddered at the alternative, of what could have happened if Zevran wasn't with them in the first place. In this moment, the blonde prince regretted for ever suggesting to kill the elf upon their initial meeting. He wordlessly handed it back to Zevran and saw that Hadrian was still kneeling at his brother's side. His lover's face was still pale but there was none of that despair now in those blue eyes. Fergus was safe for the moment at least.

"Where is he now?" Alistair asked him and he received a wry grin from the elf.

"Oh, do not worry about him. I've dealt with our culprit,"

"Dealt?" The blonde suddenly realized that one of the daggers Zevran had strapped to his back held an amber tinge to it, as if it was washed in a hurry and without a care. That in of itself was a sign of Zevran losing his cool. Before having met Fergus, Zevran was ever the amorous, sassy elf who had no respect for personal space. During battle, the elf would joke about how clumsy the warriors were, how slow they make their kills. Even at dinnertime, the blonde assassin would blatantly oogle at Hadrian and Alistair. Despite his amorous behaviour, the assassin never failed in cleaning his weapons after killing his opponents.

"Is he going to be ok?" Hadrian asked of Zevran and the elf smiled warmly at him, which looked very odd on a face hardened by distrust and murders.

"I believe so. Your brother is lucky that we Crows carry antidotes of any poison we may carry on our missions. Can't complete a mission if we are dead, no?"

"Shit," Hadrian brushed his arm against his brow, a sign of distress Alistair found out later, "let's just get this this over with and leave this place."

-o0o-

It was oddly strange to see the ashes of a long, deceased religious figure being sprinkled on the Arl but there was a collective audible sigh of relief at the sight of the Arl opening his eyes. Everyone waited for the Arl to collect his senses and it was Lady Isolde who answered his first question, a heartfelt smile etching her beautiful face.

Hadrian, while he was glad to see the Arl fully coherent and moving about, albeit slowly, was anxious in seeing Fergus do the same thing. He lost his entire family except Fergus and the youngest son didn't want to go through that devastating night again.

He felt Alistair's hand squeeze his shoulder, showing his support, and gifted the blonde a weary smile before turning his attentions to the speaking Arl.

"We need someone with stronger ties to the throne," Arl Eamon said and Hadrian felt his heart plummet into his stomach at the insinuation behind the statement. Everyone looked to Alistair, except for Hadrian, who knew what Arl Eamon was trying to do. Use Alistair's heritage to outbid Loghain's for the the throne of Ferelden.

"Me? Trust me, I wouldn't be a good king," Alistair shook his head rather vigorously but Arl Eamon was not so easily put off.

"You must heed your responsibility, Alistair," Arl Eamon said in a chastising tone and it angered Hadrian that all the Arl viewed his lover was simply a pawn in Court politics, not a young man coming into his confidence, into his role as one of the greatest Grey Wardens who ever lived.

"It is all a moot point if the Archdemon appears and destroys us all," Hadrian interrupted rather caustically and his abruptness earned a stern, disapproving glance from both Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde. "I need time to gather allies."

"Of course, meet me here once you've gathered everyone you possibly can," was all Arl Eamon had time to say before Hadrian gave a brief bow of respect and promptly left the the room. Hadrian's friends merely stared at where Hadrian had stood and then they too all left, all wearing different versions of concern and confusion at their leader's abrupt departure.

As expected, Hadrian went straight towards Fergus' new room, a rather luxurious guest bedroom located on the second floor. It was by sheer luck that there was enough of Andraste's ashes to also heal his ailing brother but Fergus was still unconscious and his senseless state worried the younger brother immensely.

Respecting his privacy, the others except for Alistair had found some excuse to be elsewhere. Wynne wanted to peruse their potions and medical supplies, with Sten offering to go with her, more for her protection than anything else. It definitely raised a few eyebrows when the strange pair left the floor, the towering form of the Qunari making Wynne look fragile and child-like. Morrigan found the room stinking worse than that 'poor excuse of a Mabari' but Hadrian could have sworn she smiled a little at him before leaving. The young Cousland had no idea on what could have brought that out. Morrigan and he, while not exactly at each other's throat, do not always get along. Now, something had changed and if he weren't so distracted with his brother's health, he would have demanded an explanation for her behaviour. The two rogues offered to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity and Hadrian noticed that Zevran's honey brown eyes lingered longer than what was deemed friendly on Fergus' face before snapping back to his.

"I am glad to see him better now. Humans are not meant to be green in the face like he was a day ago," was all the elf said before striding out of the room, humming to himself.

With everybody out of the room, Hadrian finally let his guard down and the image of his brother lying so still in that large bed blurred. He brought a hand to his eye and was shocked to feel the wetness on his fingers.

"Hey," came a gentle whisper in his ear and a pair of familiar hands turned him round, only for Hadrian to be pulled against the cool chestplate. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller form and Hadrian buried himself against Alistair's throat, finding the man's scent warm and comforting.

The two men didn't talk but words were unnecessary in this case and they spent this moment in quiet contemplation, undisturbed by the guards of Redcliffe Castle and anything else that occurred in the Arl's establishment.

-o0o-

"So, it is strange how the culprit died suddenly, without giving any information on the mastermind behind all of this," Leliana said as she walked with Zevran out in the hallway. The redhead watched how carefully the elf took stock of his surroundings. The servants were amiss and it was just the two of them patrolling the long hallway. Many empty rooms lead out to this entryway but there was only exit to the floors below this one. It was an observation that relaxed the elf a little bit for the single entrance made it easier for the rogues to keep an eye out for any suspicious people.

"I never said he died, my dear redhead," Zevran replied with a little laugh.

"But you said you dealt with him, yes?" Leliana adjusted the large bow to where it wouldn't constantly jab into the back of her left calf.

"Dealt, not killed."

"So, you let him go? I can't imagine that you would let someone like _that_ go free. Not without collateral."

"Oh believe me. It was well worth it. Trust me that he wouldn't be talking to anyone."

"I see," Leliana paused for a moment, her head bowed in thought. Then she looked to Zevran, a serious look on her face. "So who gave the order?"

"The one who hired me," Zevran's reply was simple but troublesome.

Leliana's green eyes narrowed at the implication and the redhead realized that this quest may have gotten a lot more complicated. She could only hope that Alistair would be there with Hadrian during the dark times ahead of them.

"So, how about the handsome man in bed, hmm?" She pointed out and it delighted the archer that her comment earned her a faint blush tainting the elf's cheeks. Zevran's head ducked, his eyes clearly avoiding hers.

"I know you feel something for him," Leliana continued. "But I would advise against jumping his bones. Losing a family and then not knowing about it until now, it must be terrible."

"Do not worry so much about Fergus' manhood, my dear Leliana. I may an amorous lover, but never without explicit permission."

"Hmm. If you say so, Zev," Leliana laughed, "if you say so."

The two rogues chatted for another hour or so, until they saw the two warriors walk towards them. Hadrian's stance had improved greatly, with shoulders no longer slumped forward and eyes that shone with determination and not grief over his brother's predicament.

"He's awake and asking for you, Zevran," Hadrian told the blonde elf, shaking his head in disbelief that of all the people his brother wanted to see beside him was another assassin.

"Tsk. Tsk. People never learn, do they?" Zevran asked, mirth playing in his light brown eyes. "You _never_ ask to see an assassin."

-TBC-

A/N: Sorry, guys. I ran into writer's block towards the end of this chapter. So...any thoughts on the budding friendship between our two rogues? The growing relationship between a nobleman and an assassin? I love to hear some feedback. Thanks to everyone who posted comments and are still keeping up with this story, despite the slow updates. Night shifts are grueling.


	51. Beneath the Silver Moon

**Chapter 51: Beneath the Silver Moon, part I**

"I think we're lost here or maybe the trees moved while we were sleeping?" Alistair quipped lightly. As he paid more attention to the shifting trees and the eery silence of the grove they were walking into, he failed to see a low branch and bumped his head against it.

"Alistair, watch where you're going! Last time you were this clumsy, we had a High Dragon on our tail!" Hadrian shouted at his fumbling lover but the harshness of his tone was beset by a gentle smile on his handsome face. Sounds of laughter echoed around the party of seven. Even Sten emitted a strange noise, which could have been easily mistaken for a snicker or, at least, the Qunari version of one.

"Oohh! You fought a dragon and didn't invite me? Tsk, tsk," the clear Antivan accent cut through all the others like a knife through hot butter.

"Hurmph. I don't think that Hadrian's brother minded that," Leliana remarked and realizing what she said, covered her mouth with one of her hands. It was too late though and Hadrian's head swiveled to meet the elven assassin so quickly that the movement looked painful and even Zevran thought the silver-haired warrior's neck would break from that unnatural move.

However, instead of finding disapproval in the Warden's eyes, Zevran found them to be inquisitive and something else that made him turn away.

"So, anything delicious to spill while we're at it?" Leliana continued, trying to break the slight tension between human and elf. The ice breaker was unnecessary for Hadrian merely smiled at the elf and then he too joined the redhead in trying to coax out any information from the rogue about his and Fergus' discussion.

"Why this sudden interest in my affairs?" Zevran laughed albeit a bit nervously. His hand brushed the air in a light casual move but everyone in the party had seen that gesture often enough to indicate that Zevran really didn't want to talk about it and was trying to defer their attention somewhere else.

"One way or another, we'll find out," Leliana promised darkly but her green eye winked at the elf before disappearing into the thick bushes ahead of them.

"If you three are finished discussing Fergus' chance of evading Zevran's predatory tactics of seduction, can we turn our eyes to our current quest, please? Your rabble has scared off any potential dinners and I'm not going to cook those insects again."

The witch's complaint didn't sour the cheerful moods of her companions. The presence of elfin archers pointing their arrows at them, however, immediately brought all of them back up to the seriousness of their situation. Even Zevran was caught off guard and the elf cursed in another dialect as he didn't have time to even grab a hold of his short dirk hanging off his belt.

"Hold, shemlens! You are not welcome here!" A voice cried out to them and a short brunette strode towards them, stepping a few feet away from the rest of her people.

"I am _not_ a shemlen," Sten growled in annoyance but stayed where he was. The brunette's eyes grew perturbed at the sight of the ashen-skinned giant that easily towered over her short stature. However, unafraid or perhaps confident that her archers could easily take the group down, she walked closer to the rogue.

"Are you the one who leads?"

"What? Me? Pfft. It's too much work to lead this band of misfits," Zevran scoffed at her question, not at all bothered when one of the archers threatened to let loose an arrow at his person.

"So you're telling me that one of these _shemlens_ leads you all?" It wasn't the brunette leader who asked him that but that same archer, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features. If Zevran hadn't found a delicious human to work his seductive moves on, the male elf would certainly attempt to charm the archer into his bed.

"Quiet, Eryan," the female elf barked at the named archer, her disapproval showing in the way she glared angrily at him. "While they may show no respect for our boundaries and our laws, we will _not_ treat them the same."

"I am Hadrian, a Grey Warden," the Warden spoke out, stepping forward and partially blocking the archer's view of Zevran. Intense blue eyes stared at the elves who stood poised in front of him, weapons ready to draw at a moment's notice. "Are you the Dalish who live here?"

"Manners from a shemlen, a not unwelcomed surprise," the female muttered underneath her breath.

"I am Mithra. What brings you and a company of well-armed mercenaries to the Brecilian forest?" As she asked Hadrian the question, the female leader signaled the others to lower their weapons. They did so but Hadrian and his friends were under no illusion that the elves would simply just roll over if provoked.

"A Blight has come and we're looking for those who honor their promises." Zevran emitted some sort of noise in disagreement but Hadrian elbowed him in the ribs hard.

"The Keeper has spoken of this to us. Any Warden business will have to discussed with him. Follow us." The blonde turned her back on them and escorted them to where the Keeper was.

As they approached the camp, with the aravels in sight, Mithra turned to Hadrian. "Only four of you can enter the camp at a time. The rest will have to remain here." _Where we can keep an eye on you and keep the four as hostages if anything happens._ Hadrian knew what she was implying but it would have caused further friction between the two groups if said explicitly. Also, a human Warden seeking help from the Dalish was not a sign of gentle change in Thedas.

Hadrian nodded in acqiuescence, though he disliked the idea of splitting his group into two in an unfamiliar area, and asked his companions for their opinions. Morrigan's wish to join them was what surprised the silver-haired Warden the most, given her penchant to stay anti-social when given the opportunity. Wynne was a close second but the older mage only wanted to ask around for a certain someone and then return back to camp.

Alistair was non-negotiable and Hadrian shook his head, more to chastise himself than his lover. Honestly, had he learned nothing while being in a relationship with the warrior? The blonde would sooner die than be parted from him.

Thus, with two mages and two warriors entering the Dalish camp, the others remained behind, left to their own devices. Bodahn and his boy luckily had valuable items to trade with the elves, via Hadrian and his group, thus enabling those who stayed behind to finally have decent meals cooked for them.

-o0o-

"So, Aneirin has found them after all," Wynne murmured quietly but Hadrian heard her all the same. He squeezed her shoulder to show his delight in her finding possible closure with a personal regret.

"It may be possible for him to have discovered people of his kin. The Dalish are not known for turning away one of their own," the dark-haired witch said in what could possibly the most polite or nicest tone she ever utilized when talking to her friends. Friends...what an odd word for the witch to use nowadays. If the others had been perplexed at her odd statement, they had the manners to not show it. Or rather, Alistair had the patience to not goad her with his inane one-liners that used to drive her mad earlier in their quest of gathering allies.

Instead, Hadrian gave her a small smile for her indirect support of the elderly woman.

"Well, we can explore the forest first, get our bearings before actually dealing with the werewolves. Then we'll head back and switch up so one of you can get some rest."

By 'you' Hadrian meant the mages as both he and Alistair wanted to stay together, particularly at this time of the month, with the moon nearing her fullness in the night sky.

"If Wynne wishes to pursue this Aneirin, then I volunteer to stay at the camp. It's not wise to enter an unfamiliar area without someone of _particular_ skills." Morrigan stated and Hadrian agreed with her. The trio escorted the dark-haired witch back to camp and Leliana came in her stead, a little confused at the switch-up.

"Oh, and here I thought I could finally get some rest from fighting a dragon and seeing Andraste." Her smile eased Hadrian's worry that he might have forced her to accompany them. "Then again, having Zevran for company is not really resting either."

All three laughed at that truism, not out of spite for Zevran, but because they knew him to be the annoying, loud-mouthed little bastard that he is.

The group's banter continued as they explored the outskirts of the forest but it quickly hushed having come upon a group of monstrous beings, biped creatures that resembled their smaller cousins but the resemblance stopped there.

Their initial encounter with the tainted wolves was as dramatic as any encounter with a foreign species could get. However, this became personal, almost intimate, to Alistair's shock and anger.

The taller of the four that loped easily to them on the bridge snarled at Hadrian and he charged at the human so fast that the others couldn't stop him from easily tackling their leader down to the ground, on the opposite side of the bridge. Three wolves blocked their passage but did nothing more. Alistair tried to force his way through them but one of the werewolves, a blonde one, pushed him and snarled a warning at the blonde warrior.

"Get out of my damn way!" Alistair hissed back, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Seeing the large monster charge his lover and then being denied passage scared him, more so than the time with the High Dragon. It also angered him that someone dared to touch his lover and he felt something stir restlessly within his soul.

Whatever had happened next, Alistair couldn't really recall. All he remembered was seeing Swiftrunner about to bite down on his lover's shoulder and then nothing except red.

It was the smell that roused him back but it emanated from the creature that laid beneath him, limp and bloodied with blood running in thick rivulets from a single gash in the chest. A strange taloned hand grasped the leader of the werewolves by the throat and tightening it every second until Swiftrunner was gasping for breath. _**Kill him. Show this tainted creature who the true Alpha of the wolves is**__. _The dark, velvety voice whispered seductively in the back of his mind.

Another howl ripped through the air and before Alistair could finish him, something small and white crashed into his side. The force of the newcomer neatly threw him off balance but the blonde managed to roll over his back and leaped to his feet in one graceful movement.

Swiftrunner's hoarse gasps of breath and the smaller wolf's growls were the only sounds heard in the area around the four humans. Wynne knelt at Hadrian's side, the leader still dazed and concussed from the tackle. Leliana had four arrows nocked at each wolf, aimed at the most vulnerable points of the creatures. Alistair had positioned himself between his downed lover and the intruder who dared to deny him his rightful kill.

If Alistair had been in his right mind, a small jest about talking wolves would probably have lessened the mounting tension between the two groups. However, he was more attuned to his growing instincts and viewed the white wolf as a challenge, one that needed to be dealt with quickly.

Suddenly, without warning, the white wolf reared its head back and released a howl that reverberated throughout the forest. The sound made everyone's hairs stand up and before anyone could move, the white wolf ran deeper into forest's hearth, with the rest loping after it in long, easy strides.

The sudden departure of the wolves stunned the remaining group, except for the tall blonde, whose posture was still tense, as if the man was debating on whether to chase after their enemies or stay.

Wynne was just about to ask Alistair if he was okay when the other Warden whirled around. His appearance frightened the two women, with his darkened eyes and clawed hands. Leliana so much wanted to defend herself with her bow and arrows but she knew that any weapon drawn at him would only antagonize the blonde warrior.

Instead, the redhead stood very still, although every muscle in her limbs twitched with the urge to fight or flee.

"Leave us," Alistair growled in a deep and dark authoritative tone, sounding as if the man was long used to being obeyed. "_Now._"

"Alistair, he's still hurt," Wynne countered, her hand hovering over Hadrian's limp. The anger in those dark eyes softened into something else at seeing the silver-haired man lying so still and unresponsive. Blood covered the side of the man's temple and it only cemented Alistair's decision to order the two women to leave them.

"You can do nothing else for him, Wynne," Alistair said and he gathered Hadrian into his arms, emitting a soft sound when Hadrian's head lolled against his shoulder. "I will not ask again."

"Wait! Alistair! Come back!" Leliana shouted but the man and his precious burden had already been swallowed up by the denizens of the Brecilian Forest.

"Well, that was exciting," Wynne murmured as she rose to her feet. "I believe we should listen to Alistair and return to camp, Leliana."

"What? No, we have to go after them!" A scowl marred the redhead's pretty face.

"Something tells me that this matter of the wolves can only be resolved by those two. It appears as if they would understand the wolves' plight. Perhaps the only ones."

"I-of course," Leliana acquiesced, a little reluctantly. "What will we say to the others? I'm sure Zevran won't believe us nor Morrigan."

"They are not stupid enough to go into the forest alone. Besides, I have a hunch that this storm will dissipate soon."

As the two women slowly and warily made their way back to the camp, the sun had started to set behind the tall trees, with the moon following closely behind. Full and glowing brightly in the darkening sky, it shone down upon the forest and gave light to those that despaired their unholy existence into this world.

-TBC-

A/N: Yes, I know! Another cliffhanger, I think. Next chapter will hopefully go into details of Zevran's memory of his talk with Fergus as well as the much anticipated smut between Hadrian and Alistair. Review if you want to read it!

On a side note, I just want to thank the following people for their review of chapter 50: Richard071464, kdarnell2, vansx, Denfree, Snowhelm, and Kami no Raijin.

For others who I haven't heard from recently (you know who you are!) I miss you all (most notably david9999, Sculla, kogouma, and Biganimefan2)!


	52. Beneath the Silver Moon, part II

**Beneath the Silver Moon, Part II**

Hadrian woke to the soft crackling of a fire, the heat warming his left side. Someone had managed to bandage his head as well as place him unto a soft bed made out of leaves and torn clothes. However, his rescuer was nowhere to be found. Only his sword and shield, found propped against the trunk of one of the Sylvan trees, gave any indication that it was Alistair who had taken care of him. The forest around him seemed to have come even more livelier in the cool darkness of night. The moon stood sentinel in the starry sky, accompanied only by unfamiliar constellations that shone with a celestial brilliance. _Oh no! The full moon!_

He jolted out of bed but the swiftness of his movement caused bolts of pain to lance throughout his head. He hissed out a curse, clutching at the side of his head tightly, wishing that the pain would just go away. So lost in his own agony, the silver-haired warrior failed to notice that something hovered around the edges of the campfire. Leaves rustled gently in the slight breeze that drifted into the campfire and Hadrian's head jerked up, smelling the intruder.

The instinct of self-preservation ruthlessly pushed aside any pain and Hadrian fought to stand up. Thank the Maker his rescuer left his undergarment on but saving his dignity was the least of the man's worry. He sought for his sword, which was found lying on the space next to his cot, and drew it upwards and in front of him in a defensive stance. The world was etched in a slight fog, no doubt a symptom of his lingering concussion, but he had no problems in seeing the intruder come into light.

Tall and heavily muscled, the intruder walked into the camp alone, a bloodied machete held in the right hand. Hadrian realized, with a shock, that the intruder was a human but so large in stature and built. He was almost a giant, towering well over six feet. Grimly accepting the fact that the odds of surviving a fight with this one was quite low, Hadrian clutched at his family's longsword, the blade eerily giving off a faint blue glow in the silver moonlight.

The stranger, masked and lightly armored, slowly began to approach him, the movements catlike and so quiet that Hadrian knew why he hadn't heard him earlier. A soft growl could be heard and two more forms appeared out of the blackness. Hadrian cursed again and he tensed as the three figures moved irrevocably towards him, the intention to corner and kill him all too clear in the way they held weapons close by.

Hadrian, not wanting to be cornered like a helpless animal, struck first at the smallest intruder and as he plunged the sword deep into his opponent's gut, he swept his feet and managed to pull the sword out from the dead man only to thrust it deep into second intruder's throat. Thick blood spurted out from beneath the black mask and coated the ground as well as splattering across Hadrian's stomach.

There was a sharp cry of anger from behind him and before Hadrian could quickly pull out his sword from the other dead assailant, he was tackled from behind. The sudden weight forced him to the ground and, knowing the sudden vulnerable position he was in, Hadrian rolled over his right shoulder to avoid getting into a choke hold. Unfortunately, the movement turned his world upside down and he grew woozy for a few seconds, which gave his opponent enough time to push him unto his back and straddle his hips. A hand clutched at his throat and Hadrian gasped, trying to draw in as much air as he could before the hand predictably tightened around his neck. His hands scrabbled feebly at the man's mask and he managed to push the mask off, revealing a hideous visage of blackened flesh with empty sockets and no mouth.

The world around the monstrous face began to darken and Hadrian choked around the grip, his movement to push the assailant off of him weakening. The beating of his heart thrummed loudly in his ear, getting louder and louder until suddenly it stopped. For a moment, Hadrian had thought he died and his spirit was just merely getting used to that fact when he realized two things: the stranger was gone and sounds of agonized screams ripped through the air.

Hadrian coughed and gasped, his body inhaling the much needed air. He rolled unto his side, weakly trying to assemble his scattered thoughts when the screams halted and footsteps padded quietly towards him. Fearing that the intruder had come back to finish the job, Hadrian scrambled into a kneeling position and faced his attacker with all the strength that he could muster, which wasn't much considering he was still trying to convince himself he was alive in the first place.

There, standing before him, was the missing rescuer but he had changed so much. The other man had grown considerably within the last few hours, in both stature and physique. Blonde hair had stood out in wet spikes, either from the sweat of his previous killings or perhaps blood. Despite the moon being bright and full on this eve, Hadrian had a difficult time in seeing the stranger properly. Of course, his concussion could skew his perspective anyways, even if the sun had been out and not the moon. As it was, the Cousland couldn't believe what he was seeing: half-man, half wolf. It was as if the other man's transformation had halted but this form made his rescuer even more intimidating than the strangers.

Fierce dark eyes gazed at him and, like the strangers before, approached him. Hadrian, knowing that he couldn't possibly hold his own against the changed man, listened to his instincts and did what anything else could do when faced with a predator. He simply ran.

As he turned and fled deeper into the forest, his inner wolf growled at him, asking why he had turned away from a place of safety only to traverse into the dangerous unknown. Hadrian wasn't thinking straight, no thanks to yesterday's ordeal and now having been attacked by three masked men. Thus, instead of his movements being swift and graceful in the wilderness, he stumbled, fell down a few times, before finally finding refuge against a large oak tree. Exhausted and hurting, he panted and leaned his body against the tree. His headaches had increased largely due to the restlessness of the wolf inside him but human self-preservation won over his wolf's instincts, until the other man had suddenly appeared out of the blackness of the forest.

Although his pursuer's movements were silent, Hadrian should have been able to smell him but the silver-haired man wasn't in his right mind. Fear had overridden his senses and, although he wanted to run away from the approaching man, he couldn't move.

With wide, frightened eyes, Hadrian watched at how his pursuer carried himself, with confidence and control of the situation. His heart raced as the man leaned over him, the moonlight glinting off sharp canines that certainly weren't there before. His rescuer straddled his hips in such a way that Hadrian couldn't easily throw him off and the silver-haired man shivered at how the other one nuzzled his ear before traveling down to the joint of his neck and shoulders. Out of instinct, Hadrian half-growled and half-whimpered when the soft pair of lips moved too close to his neck.

The taller man emitted a deep growl in response, not to scare off his captive but to soothe his nerves and calm him. It worked and Hadrian became limp, trembling as a warm tongue laved the bruised sides. A soft, low moan unwittingly escaped his throat and the licking continued, the damp areas tingling after being laved with attention. In his fight for survival, Hadrian had forgotten that he was naked except for a small loin clothe that barely covered his privates. Clawed hands stroking down the sides of his flank reminded him of his near nakedness and Hadrian would have shouted out from indignation. As it was now, he was too content and he whispered his pursuer's name as razor-sharp teeth edged the skin of his throat, a promise of what's to come later.

"Alistair..."

His rescuer stopped licking his neck only to draw back and gaze at him. His lover, blonde hair almost glowing ethereally underneath the moonlight, truly looked all the Alpha that he was destined to be. Dark eyes gazed lovingly down at him and a small smile grew on the proud visage. Alistair placed his full weight on Hadrian's body and kissed him with all the ferocity of a male Alpha, all the love he had for this trembling man, who was too glad to be swept away by the fierceness of his rescuer.

"I would have you now," Alistair growled softly against his lips, hips rolling seductively against his own, "but you're injured and would not fully appreciate what I have in store for you."

Hadrian shivered at the heated promise and his inner wolf howled in exaltation at how he bared his neck in a clear sign of submission. His action earned him a pleased sound of approval and a light nip at his jaw that caused his arousal to spike. His erection strained against the cloth that held it captive and Hadrian moaned when Alistair pushed against him, the man's own hardness pressing against his own.

He really wanted to continue this with the other man but the low rumbling sound emanating from Alistair seduced him to a state to lethargy. Suddenly, the adrenaline that allowed his wounded body to even fight and flee diminished until all that was left in Hadrian was this unusual fatigue. Despite his concern at how quickly his body tired, the presence of his Alpha comforted him and he sighed out Alistair's name, his nose nuzzling against the man's warm throat. Hearing and feeling his Alpha, Hadrian slipped into slumber.

-o0o-

"Where are the rest of your companions?" One of the elven archers asked of the two women who had just returned from their rather interesting encounter with the werewolves. Wynne gifted them a gentle smile, one that could easily disengage the other's hostile manner.

"They are still in the forest and will return when needed."

The elf just frowned at her vague reply but said nothing else to the pair. Apparently, no matter what Wynne would have said, her words would be taken at face value anyways. Wynne suspected that the isolation of such a race, who had been mistreated so violently in the past, would lead to mistrust and even unwarranted hostility to those of the present and perhaps of future generations. Leliana still frequently looked back at where they had come from, her emerald eyes full of concern and worry for the two friends she had to leave behind.

Upon arriving at their makeshift camp, everyone had noticed that something was amiss and the Qunari grumbled his discontent at being left behind when he could have clearly prevented their leader's disappearance. The tall ashen-skinned giant strolled in large, easy strides towards the elderly mage and they both looked at each other, as if trying to gauge the other's thoughts and will.

Whatever answers Sten had been looking for, he appeared to have found them when all he did was clench his jaw tightly before walking away in a sullen silence. Leliana thought it strange at how easily the two communicated, despite the large gulf of cultural differences. However, it was irrelevant to the somewhat desperate situation of their leader and Alistair.

Even Zevran's brow became furrowed and the usually talkative elf had stayed quiet all throughout Wynne's explanation. The assassin's eyes darkened with worry towards the end of Wynne's retelling of the events that transpired recently and he thanked her for not having stopped Alistair.

"Trust me," Zevran explained to his confused friends as he tended to a pot of hot rabbit soup. "It is for the best that we not interfere with them."

"So you do know what's going on," Leliana said, trying not to sound like she was accusing Zevran of being a liar. "Did Fergus tell you? You were with him for quite some time, no?"

The lilt was back and stronger than ever when the redhead was frustrated or angry. Zevran actually smiled at her, not at all bothered by the accusatory looks the rest of the party threw at him. Despite having traveled with them for at a month or so, the others still held him suspiciously. Of course the elf did not blame them. He did after all attempted to kill half of the party at one point in time.

"In a way, yes. It would of course happen in under entirely different circumstances. Perhaps the werewolves are more of a danger than we think and that Alistair has shown his true colours."

"Do you mean that dimwit can actually fight against those hideous creatures by himself?" Morrigan's disbelief was reflected by her caustic tone. The witch had been studying Flemeth's grimoire before the group arrived and the only reason she stopped was the mere mention of Alistair trying to be the hero. "If he is to fight, then he would need more than just mere brawn to contest with the denizens of this forest. There is great power here that none of you can possibly withstand."

"And what do you know of this _power_ Morrigan?" Leliana snapped back for the redhead's patience with Morrigan's power-hungry attitude had grown terribly thin in the past week.

If looks could kill, which in Morrigan's case they certainly can, then Leliana would have vaporized instantly. However, Morrigan just shook her head and continued, "I am not just a witch, girl, but a Witch of the Wilds."

"Which means?"

"Which means that I am more in touch with Nature than any of you, even you Wynne. An unnatural spell is cast here and all are suffering unnecessarily so. The spell would be strongest at any focal point or tears in the Veil."

"That storyteller mentioned of a great battle that was fought here centuries ago." Wynne suggested to support Morrigan's explanation.

The dark-haired witch nodded in agreement. "Yes. However, there are tales of a great ruin here in these lands. It was used as a potent magical source to all those inherited and embraced their true potential."

"So perhaps Hadrian and Alistair have gone there then?"

"Perhaps. But beware, that traps and curses keep out even the most prepared travelers." Morrigan warned but it fell on deaf ears when the others clearly started to pack for their rescue. Even Sten had put on his heavy armor with his greatsword strapped to that broad back of his.

Zevran was perhaps the only one still not moving at all but it wasn't because of his unwillingness to enter the unknown. No, it wasn't that at all. When Leliana had almost accused him of deliberately holding back vital information that could have prevented this from happening, the redhead had no idea of the consequences if Alistair was told about this before the incident.

"_The Couslands have never had magic in our line but we have something far greater than what all the mages could possibly dream of. I can't tell you what it is yet but when the next full moon rises, let whatever happens between my brother and his friend run its course."_

"_Oh, a wild chase in the woods perhaps? I have some suggestions for that." Zevran quipped lightly but Fergus growled at him and a strong hand wrapped around his neck only to pull him forward. Whatever smartass comment he was about to say next was immediately lost on him at the sensation of a hard mouth crushing his own lips. The kiss wasn't gentle. It was forceful and demanded that the elf submitted to its owner's will. The sudden change of dynamics in their budding relationship frightened Zevran for he was used to being the chaser, to pursuing his prey with wiles and wit. He tried to let out an angry expletive but it became a strangled moan instead when scorching heat invaded his senses._

_Before he got lost in the whirlpool of lust and confusion, the hand suddenly let him go only to grasp at the pointed chin in a firm grip. Intense brown eyes gazed at him knowingly, as if Fergus knew that Zevran hadn't even tried to resist his advances._

"_It seems the hunter has become the hunted and you will thoroughly enjoy your submission to me, even if you don't it know yet."_

"Zevran!"

The shout broke his reverie but he was glad of the interruption. The rescue mission would give him something else to focus on and he would definitely need to have a good talk with Hadrian after all is said and done. The trick, however, would be to do it in private, without Alistair watching over them like a hawk. _Or a wolf_.


	53. Beneath Silver Moon, part III

_**So it seems that our brothers have submitted to the power of the Moon. **_**_May they rejoice in their reunion and may our enemies tremble at their awakening.  
_**

_** - Lord of the Wolves, unknown verse in the 'Legends of the Old Gods'**_

**Beneath the Silver Moon, part III**

The forest was oddly peaceful for once but perhaps it was due to the presence of the mystic and the powerful. Shadows loomed around the slumbering pair that took refuge underneath one of the oldest Sylvan trees, the Great One as it was reverently named by the passing Dalish elves. Unlike its younger and more vicious offspring, the Great One allowed the two to rest undisturbed and it also noticed the presence of something far older than itself standing sentinel by the pair.

_So, the time has come then. It seems as if this world is destined to end in fire and strife._ The Great One addressed the shadows of its offspring and the blackness conglomerated into one shape.

_**Indeed it has, young one.**_ The wolf could easily have over towered the tree but decided to choose a smaller form, more out of its desire to not frighten the two humans rather than respect for the Great One.

_Much time has passed since your last visit. Is it because of these two who slumber at my heart, unknowing of the danger that lay above them?_

The wolf knew that the Great One truly did not even dare to harm his chosen vassals but he allowed the empty threat to pass with impunity. Instead, the wolf simply walked closer to the pair and gazed curiously at the sight they made.

Alistair had curled around the smaller of the two, a muscled forearm wrapping around the torso and keeping his partner close to him. The Lord of Wolves growled softly at how his chosen one turned over and nuzzled sweetly into his lover's neck. The silver hair was starting to darken at last, a sign of coming of age, of the loss of innocence. It seems that the Blight was taking a toll on his young warrior and the wolf hoped the young Cousland wouldn't get lost in the political machinations of Loghain when something even more dangerous was coming.

He nuzzled the two men and pulled back suddenly as if burned by the contact. Then what could be taken as a smile appeared as lips pulled back to reveal rows of serrated teeth.

Seemingly satisfied with what he had discovered upon touching the two mortal bodies, the wolf walked back into the thick of the forest, fading into the blackness as easily as a ghost.

The Great One himself was largely confused by the wolf's sudden departure. However, having seen many strange things in his large lifespan, he did not question the wolf and the leaves on his arms and head rustled and quivered in the wind at the sound of a howl that reverberated through the thickness of his wooden skin and that of many of the forest's denizens. Even the werewolves and other monstrous atrocities that lurked in the dark haven trembled at the sound and all knew that they were not to disturb the two mortals on pain of death or perhaps worse.

Soon, the night fell to the impending dawn, if only temporarily, and the forest awakened to greet the new ruler in the sky. Dark creatures of the night scurried off to their hiding places as they found the light repulsive and painful to bear.

Sparrows and their much larger cousins, the hawks, chirped and flew restlessly from tree to tree, awakening the pair in the forest's heart. It was Alistair who roused first and brown eyes blinked until the world above him came into focus. Something shifted and moaned beside him as he slowly sat up, rubbing his forehead as he tried to remember what had happened a few candlelights ago.

Flowery aromas filled his senses as did something else, a smell of copper and sandalwood. Suddenly remembering the intruders that had invaded his makeshift camp and threatened his lover, Alistair quickly glanced over the person still sleeping beside him.

Hadrian moved closer to him and the blonde warrior sighed in relief when he could find no serious injuries littering the bare body. However, the skin on the other Warden's neck looked discoloured, more yellow than it should be and the blonde man growled at the memory of that intruder who dared to take away what's rightfully his. At his growl, Hadrian emitted a soft sound, almost a whimper and the other man instinctively bared his neck, as if asking for Alistair to claim him already.

The temptation to mark his lover was strong indeed and the tantalizing smell of arousal did not help either. However, despite the exotic aroma that emanated from his lover, Alistair somehow knew that the claiming would have to be done when both partners consented. He had won the chase last night, having followed his lover's trail effortlessly, even in the dark of night. Only his instincts guided him down the right path and now they were telling him to wait a little bit longer, if only to see the silver-haired man rouse from his sleep and realize that he was his.

He didn't have to wait long and he gasped at how his name slipped from Hadrian's lips upon the fluttering of those gorgeous cerulean eyes.

"Alistair?"

"You're safe," he replied, his voice so deep and gravelly that Alistair had difficulty in recognizing his own voice.

Hadrian's eyes widened at whatever he saw and then his cheeks blushed as the other man tried to turn away only for Alistair to gently cup his cheek and pull him back.

"Do you accept us at last?" Alistair asked seriously, the usual jest in his eyes and voice gone and replaced by something else entirely.

"At last? You mean..." Hadrian's cheeks grew even redder at the implication of Alistair's words and then his blue eyes darkened almost with anger. The change in Hadrian's attitude startled the blonde one and soon he found himself restraining his partner.

"No, you're not yourself, Alistair!" Hadrian cried out and he lashed out a fist only to have his hand caught in a much stronger grip. "Not since last night."

Alistair pinned his wrists above his head and merely waited until Hadrian tired himself out from the unnecessary exertions. Once his lover calmed down, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together gently.

"I am very much myself," Alistair whispered against his lover's soft lips and he pulled back to let his lover see for himself. Hadrian scrutinized him with a wary eye, his body still tense beneath him. The pale skin glistened with the sheen of sweat and his erratic breathing tempered into a steady one. Soon, the tension soothed as Hadrian sighed, blue eyes closing in a relieved fashion. Hadrian's lithe body relaxed somewhat but it was enough for Alistair to know that he wasn't forcing his lover into this, whatever _this_ was.

"Show me," Hadrian dared him with a glint in his eye. "Show me that you are indeed the Alistair I know and then I will be yours, _Alpha_."

The title made Alistair growl in response and he kissed Hadrian again, this one more forceful and more demanding than its tender predecessor.

"You are the youngest son of the Couslands," Alistair said in a tender tone, the gentleness of it in sharp contrast to the strong kisses he bestowed upon his lover's pliant lips. "Vengeance rules your heart but your soul is kind and it lessens the hurt that still resides inside you."

Hadrian gasped at the truism behind Alistair's statement and allowed Alistair to slide his tongue in. The blonde warrior hummed in approval at the surrender and his grip around the wrists loosened to allow Hadrian clutch at his head and shoulders.

"You were already mine at first sight but only now have you accepted us," the soft whisper pressed against an earlobe. Hadrian groaned when Alistair gave his ear a sharp nip before continuing down that slender neck. Sharp canines worried the skin at the juncture where his neck and shoulders met before a velvet tongue licked down his sternum.

"I always thought you were handsome and strong, that your body yearns for this affection from me."

A small whimper escaped Hadrian's throat as a hot mouth covered his nipple and slender fingers threaded through the golden locks of his lover.

"But I never had the courage to tell you that you mean more to me than life itself," Alistair kissed the other pert flesh and his lips curled into a wolfish grin at how Hadrian arched into him, as if begging to be touched again when he withdrew from a nipple.

"What..." Hadrian tried to say, his coherency losing against the onslaught of Alistair's mouth and hands. "...finally had you say it?"

"Still coherent?" Alistair jested, ignoring the question that was asked of him. The blonde earned a soft gasp as he dipped his tongue into his lover's navel before travelling further down to the edge of the smallcloth.

"Alistair," Hadrian said, voice a little bit stronger and Alistair sighed from frustration. Knowing that he couldn't continue unless he answered the question, the blonde warrior finally looked up from where he laid between his lover's thigh.

"I could have lost you at any time," Alistair told him quietly, fingers skimming along the interior of the thighs that imprisoned him still. "To the assassin's poison, the undead of Warden's Keep, the dragon at the Old Temple...I could lose you still, but to the will of man, not of us."

Hadrian sharply inhaled at the realization that Alistair was referring to what had happened in Redcliffe Castle. Of Eamon's intention to use Alistair's blood as a crutch to depose Loghain of his regency. Eamon angered Hadrian to no end but the intelligent man had expected the Arl to make such a heinous suggestion. After all, it was his mother who had schooled him well in the politics of court, both the noble and the dirty sides of it. It was his mother who said that honour always wins when it mattered most, no matter the consequences.

"What you said to the Arl made me realize how much we've not said to each other. How you want to say 'I love you' but couldn't. Not to me, not to yourself."

"...Al-" Hadrian's mention of his name was cut short when Alistair kissed him, passionately and deeply.

"Say it," Alistair commanded gently, a whisper in his ear. "Say it and you will not lose me. Say it and I will stay by your side forever."

Hadrian's heart raced at how serious Alistair was, how genuine his promises were to him. These words weren't the empty ones of a temporary bedwarmer. The way way Alistair looked at him, how the love literally shone from those dark brown depths and how his hands caressed his body as if he were something to be idolized, to be worshipped. He had long stopped seeing the face of the dead King that still lay where death took him at Ostagar but it wasn't until now that Hadrian saw the real Alistair. The one man who could share his burdens, the one who didn't turn away in Hadrian's darkest moments but rather embraced his bestial side.

When he whispered those three words to Alistair, it was as if a sun literally seared him or maybe it was the light of the moon itself. After all, the moon is what gives him the power to run like his Wolf Protector, proud and free.

Hadrian moaned at how Alistair showed him how much he meant to him. Sword-calloused hands stroked along his spine and buttocks. Teeth raked none too gently against the side of his neck while a small appendage grazed along the cleft and then slipped inside him, wrenching out a heartfelt groan from him.

"Hadrian," Alistair sighed, his breath warm against his cheek. Soon, Hadrian was engulfed by the heat of his lover's mouth wherever it may land. His nipples, the skin right below his ribs, and finally where he most wanted Alistair to be at.

Little whimpers echoed around the area where the two lovers as Alistair proceeded to love Hadrian. The blonde, surrounded by his lover's salacious cries, swallowed Hadrian whole all the while letting his finger caress him. Soon, another finger joined followed by a slippery organ that teased Hadrian relentlessly, allowing him no respite.

Overwhelmed by the heat that scorched his senses anew, Hadrian could no longer fight the rising tide of ecstasy and he moaned out Alistair's name as his hips arched upwards. Wet heat splattered all over his stomach and he panted heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to recover some of his wits.

Alistair gave a smug chuckle at how responsive his Hadrian was. With his fingers now lazily stroking the insides of his lover, the blonde kissed and nipped his way up to Hadrian until he reached those red lips.

"My love," Alistair breathed hotly against his ear and he sat back, bringing Hadrian into his lap. The blonde groaned at how his lover's buttocks rested against his member until it slid along the wet cleft. Hadrian let out a strained moan and he kissed him, whispering, "ready?"

Hadrian gave him a nod and a pained whimper at the initial penetration. Alistair hissed against the side of his lover's neck, where the smell of the woods were strongest, at how tight his lover was. Knowing that he was Hadrian's first man who ever gotten this far with him, Alistair valiantly resisted the urge to impale his lover in one thrust, to have his way with this beautiful creature who quivered in his arms.

It felt like forever when Hadrian began to move, hesitantly at first before settling into a comfortable rhythm, with Alistair thrusting upwards and him moving down to greet his lover's powerful movements.

The silver hair soon darkened, the light hues giving way to the dark shades of black. Alistair moaned at how even more beautiful his lover looked and soon all he could hear was Hadrian's desperate sounds. Whimpers and cries surrounded him as did the scent of ever increasing arousal. Then, all of a sudden, he was gripped so tightly, so wonderfully that his world whitened around him. A hoarse cry of his name was the last thing he heard before it was accompanied by a shout of his own. In his haze of passion and love for this man, he licked over the juncture of where Hadrian's neck met the shoulder and penetrated Hadrian with his fangs as well as his erection.

"Oh gods!" Hadrian shouted again and the Cousland was taken over again by the unexplainable pleasure, this sensation of being loved and held by the strongest man he ever knew. Within this strong embrace, he knew Alistair would keep his promises and he fell limply against the man's chest, allowing Alistair to weakly thrust into him again and again until warmth flooded inside of him for a second time.

His eyes fluttered shut and, weak by their physical and mental connection, Hadrian tumbled over into a second darkness, assured by the indomitable presence of his Alistair that he would be kept safe and loved for as long as Alistair could manage.

The blonde warrior, noticing how his lover wasn't moving anymore, soothed the hurt with his tongue, delighting at how the bite mark closed up before leaving a half crescent moon behind on the pale skin. Too tired and perhaps a little concerned about his lover's well being, Alistair ignored the strange mark for now and gently laid Hadrian down on the soft grass before lying behind him. He nuzzled where he bit him and Hadrian moaned, his body shifting closer to him.

As the pair drifted into a much needed rest, two wolves appeared before them. The white one sat opposite to its black counterpart, each wolf sitting next to their respective hosts. As one they reared their heads back and sounded a triumphant howl, one that was heard by all nearby, including the Lady of the Forest and the Lord of Wolves who smiled.

_**So, it has finally started. Perhaps this world might not end in the way it was meant to.**_

Pleased by the turn of the events, he faded from the forest, disappearing into the wind that bore him away and taking him to where he was needed most.

-TBC-

A/N: I'm actually a little nervous about this chapter. I hope it's to everyone's expectations and would love to hear what's to be said about this anticipated chapter.


	54. The Lady and the Beast

**Chapter 54: The Lady and the Beast**

"Ok, so we're just going to waltz in this cursed forest and ask the wolves, 'give us our friends or die?'" Zevran asked his three friends of Morrigan, Leliana, and Sten, who of all people, wished to see with his own eyes the legend of the Brecilian Forest. The Qunari had scoffed at the idea of werewolves and other monsters roaming the elven forest. 'Demons of the cursed ones do not exist unless summoned by them' was his only explanation for going with them. Even Morrigan was surprised by Sten's want to accompany them but all three were also grateful for a warrior's presence. In fact, he was sorely needed as the Qunari was the _only_ warrior in the entire group of companions. The other two were currenly residing somewhere in the forest, either kidnapped by the beasts or perhaps there of their own will. The only way was to explore the vast unknown.

Unfortunately, their exploration involved getting turned around due to the misty barriers that would take them back to their initial starting point. It was only when they just stumbled unto an ancient tree who had an unusual request of them and an even stranger observation.

"You four have come to pass, but with the other two who have been here last," the Great One started to say before being rudely interrupted by the rather impatient dark-haired witch.

"Enough of this rhyming nonsense! Where are our compatriots?" The witch's eyes glimmered brilliantly out of anger and impatience.

The Great One stopped mid-sentence and the ancient slyvan tree gave all four a hard look; empty wooden holes that served as eyes lingered longer on the elf than anyone else. It made Zevran a little uncomfortable for the only attention he was used to be receiving was out of sexual need, not from genuine curiosity.

"I sense the power around you, power held only by the chosen few."

"I see but please, we need your help," Zevran was uncharacteristically polite, at least according to the others.

Like the others, the Great One was shocked to sense such politeness from an Antivan Assassin and he bowed his crown of branches out of respect to the request.

As he spoke of the magical acorn that was stolen from him, Leliana remembered having encountered that crazy hermit not so long ago and she fished out a small brown pouch. She retrieved a small seed from it and then showed it to the Great One.

His ultimate relief in having his acorn back was shown in him grasping the acorn in sharp branches and then singing out his thanks to the three who had unknowingly took it from the hermit and his summoned demons.

"For my thanks I have, a special amulet shall give you leave."

Zevran held out his hand to receive a minute wooden necklace, fit to wear more around the wrist than the neck itself.

"Now, shall I hibernate and join my brethren; and in time, we shall know true living."

His cryptic words were not accompanied by further explanation as even as the words left Zevran's mouth, the Great One had fallen into a deep slumber.

"I did not know trees have words," Sten remarked in a dead-panned tone. "In my lands of Par Vollen, there are trees but words are lacking due to squirrels and dirt."

"Tis true, having a mouthful of squirrels would do it," Morrigan commented dryly as she hoisted her staff again, trying to situate it where it wouldn't press against her ankles. "I would know."

Seeing no other reason to stick around in an area full of hostile Sylvan trees, the four departed and headed towards the misty barriers. The minute wooden necklace glowed a bright blue and the mist dissipated, revealing a hidden path that would take them deeper into the heart of the forest. Little did they know that Hadrian and Alistair were already there, waiting for them with answers to everything that had happened here lately between Zathrian and the werewolves.

-o0o-

The Lady of the Forest was not what Alistair had expected to see. A beast of incredible beauty and savagery, sure, but not this slender woman whose only clothing were provided by her long hair and the green tendrils wrapping around her body in such a way that it covered her most private parts. Her form, perfect and certainly pleasing to the eye with her pert breasts set high in a body curved in the right places, was certainly appreciated by Alistair but only in the aesthetic sense.

"And so it is true then," the Lady spoke, her voice carrying out in the atrium of the Temple. Two werewolves guarded her closely and Alistair snarled when he realized that Swiftrunner was there with his dark eyes traveling down Hadrian's form. No doubt undressing him, Alistair thought angrily. The tall blonde stepped in front of the other man in a clear move to deny Swiftrunner of the pleasure of looking at his mate.

"I sensed the presence of another inside you," the Lady continued and she stepped forward only to be gently pushed back by Swiftrunner himself.

"No, my Lady! These intruders intend to harm you!" The dark werewolf growled his warning.

"Peace, Swiftrunner," the Lady assuaged her belligerent guard before turning to address the two men who waited patiently. However, she too noticed that the pair were together in a sense. Like the beasts, her senses picked up on the strange odors emanating from Hadrian and an even stronger masculine scent from the blonde who guarded his friend so closely.

"We do not harm those who have claimed each other." Her comment brought a blush to both warriors' faces and the Lady smiled at their flushed expressions. She knew the signs of those destined to be joined and, despite her being a powerful and cursed spirit, the Lady had learned to appreciate these strange and human emotions. The pain of existence and the joys of living opened her mind and thus gave her a softer view on the lives she guarded over the past centuries.

"But let us talk now of things that is and things to come," the Lady continued and she gestured to the two men to come closer to her, ignoring the soft growls Swiftrunner emitted.

"Come and commune with us. Share what you have learned and we will tell you the true story of our origins."

As all who occupied the immense antechamber of the ancient elven ruins gathered around the Lady, there started a tale of terrible tragedy, of a wrath that could not be curbed by time itself. As she finished her story, both Hadrian and Alistair felt deep within their hearts that no justice could be served by siding with either side. A compromise had to be made and Hadrian, determined to fix this, promised the Lady that he would seek out Zathrian and bring him here.

Just as the dark-haired Warden turned to leave, a cry of indignation echoed in the frigid air and caused everyone to turn their attentions to the sight of a group of four led by the unmistakable form of Zathrian. The Keeper's face, reddened with so much anger, twisted into something that marred his delicate features.

"And so you have sided with them, after all?" Zathrian cried out and he was just about to strike the stoned floor with his staff when a sharp knife appeared at this throat, followed by a gentle 'tsk' from the dark-skinned elf.

"No, no, no. Let us not be hasty hmm? After all the effort you went through in guiding us to find them, it would not be logical to kill them. Especially the dear Warden. His brother would be not happy with me."

"Everyone, stand down!" Hadrian's voice was loud and commanding. At his shout, the werewolves stayed their ground and Zathrian, to everyone's hope and surprise, loosened his grip on the wooden staff. Zevran sorely wanted to leave the dagger at the other elf's throat but whatever Hadrian had to say, it must be important enough to hold the werewolves at bay.

Although both sides of the conflicted calmed down, the tension still broiled hotly between them and any twitch could be misconstrued as an act of aggression. Thus, Hadrian had to choose his words wisely lest he lose all he gained within seconds.

"Vengeance..." Hadrian started and his own voice cracked at the word. The dark-haired Cousland knew that word intimately. From the first day of his recruitment into the Wardens to seeing Fergus, alive and well, the youngest son of the Cousland line lived for vengeance. To seek and destroy the treacherous Howe for his betrayal. Now, though the fires had been curbed by both Fergus and Alistair, he no longer lived solely for revenge. He wanted answers as well, answers from everyone who had wronged him, from those who he mistakenly wronged in his lifetime. "All it brings is even more suffering. What good did it do for you Zathrian? Did it end at your curse? Did it bring you happiness in the end?"

"How dare you! You can't possibly know the loss of everyone you've loved!" The Keeper's face grew livid at Hadrian's questions for they struck a painful cord in his conscience.

"Actually, I do," Hadrian's face grew sullen and an ache started to bloom in his chest, where his heart resides. "In one night, I lost my parents, my smiling nephew who never knew how to hold a sword. I lost my best friend, Ser Gilmore, who taught me that being a Lord didn't have to be so miserable and serious all the time. Because of an old friend who held my father's trust in his hands and then crushed it, I lost everything and everyone I held dear. It's only until now do I realize that wanting vengeance and wanting justice are two very different roads to take. They all lead to the same result at the end of the journey, but what would I do to achieve it? Would I start to mistrust those around me and let the loss and regrets poison my being? Or would I find trust in those who believe in me and help me journey through these harsh trials and tribulations? So tell me, Zathrian, how could I possible know the terrible consequences of this loss? It is because this person," Hadrian gestured to himself, "It is because I lived it and yet I still strive to do what is right for it is the _only_ road taken."

The man's speech was so profound and deep that it struck the audience speechless. Even the golden-eyed Morrigan could not find the words to argue or support her friend's view. However, most importantly, the slender Keeper eventually relented in his thirst for punishing those who had taken away his children. Zathrian bowed his head and his form shook with quiet sobs as the Keeper finally faced what he had wrought. No one derailed him in his moment of weakness. Even Swiftrunner became oddly silent and the Lady gently stepped forward, to stop in front of the crying elf.

"Shall we end our suffering? Or must we keep toiling ourselves deeper into this pit of despair and anguish?" The Lady's voice, soft and comforting, soothed the mourning Keeper. Zathrian nodded and, at an unspoken word, everyone backed away from the pair.

Warm light cascaded down the two beings and as the form of the Lady disappeared into nothingness, Zathrian collapsed backwards, into Hadrian's arms. A whispered 'thank you' was all the elf managed to say before he stilled as death took him on swift wings. It was only in this moment that Hadrian realized there was a genuine smile on Zathrian's pale face and, as he closed those sightless eyes, the elf appeared to be merely sleeping.

"Look! By the Maker, we're...we're human again!" An exclamation had Hadrian revert his gaze from Zathrian's smiling visage to the startling sight of humans standing where the werewolves used to be. Swiftrunner, the leader of the group, is indeed a handsome man. Someone worthy of leading a pack. Also, he still bestowed an intense gaze at Hadrian, much to Alistair's dismay. Apparently, whatever Swiftrunner had felt for him in his cursed state transferred to his original human form.

However, all Swiftrunner did was to thank him before directing the others out, leaving behind the two Wardens and their own pack to dwell in what had just happened.

"So, what now?" It was Sten who had asked the question and, while Hadrian would normally be angry at how easily the Qun could brush off death as easily as melee blows, the man was just too tired to be anything. He tired of this drudgery of bringing death around him. It seemed that everywhere he goes, death follows behind him, dogging him on his heels. Would Alistair be taken away from him as well?

"We go back to camp, deliver the news to the Keeper's First, and then move on to Denerim. I think we all could use some rest." Alistair spoke out and the others followed his lead as easily as they all followed Hadrian's. As the others made their way out of the antechamber and down the large root that served as a bridge to an exit nearby, Hadrian spared a glance back at where Zathrian died and his heart lightened when three ghostly figures waved back at him. _Thank you..._

A cold breeze entered the now empty chamber and all three vanished with the wind, Zathrian's smile the last to disappear.

"Hadrian?" A warm hand clasped around his own and Hadrian glanced back at his concerned lover. "You alright?"

Hadrian smiled and he hooked a hand around Alistair's neck before gently bringing his lover down to kiss him passionately and without reservations.

As they separated, it was to see each other with flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. "I am now," was all Hadrian could say before Alistair stopped him with another kiss, tender and soft. The two would have continued were it not for an annoyed exclamation coming from Morrigan of all people followed by a remark of 'do continue!" from Zevran. Alistair, not wanting to give the elf a free show at his lover, merely growled in annoyance against his lover's lips before pulling back and then taking his lover's hand to lead him out of the hallowed ruins.

-TBC-

A/N: This is what I get for listening to sad music, a mixture of Two Steps from Hell and Mass Effect OSTs. Hope this was worth the wait as well, despite the lack of smut. How do you all like the story so far? Too slow? Too fast? I hope to finish this before the year ends as I want to concentrate on producing a _possible_ sequel.


	55. Winter's Chase

**Chapter 55: Winter's Chase**

Winter in Highever, Hadrian remembered fondly and with a slight ache in his heart, was celebrated with high hopes and respect. It was a sign that summer had come and gone, with spring following close by.

The Winter solstice was treated as a special holiday by the Couslands and, while the Maker was predominantly their main God, their Wolf Protector was as equally worshiped as the Maker Himself. Thus, hunts were held in Zarieth's honour, much to the chagrin of a handful of vassals and minor lords. Even the Chantry had more than once vocalized its disapproval and even dared to kill off any wolves that would roam too closely to the Cousland Castle. However, the political power of the Chantry could not halt the coming of the wolves.

"What the-!" A large white snowball flew straight into Hadrian's mouth and a few more hit Hadrian's front until the entire dark dragonplate disappeared underneath the layer of cold and white.

"Snowball for your thought?" Alistair shouted out cheerfully over the din of laughter and giggles. Even Morrigan was not immune to the power of laughter and cheerfulness. While Zevran was too busy trying to sneak up on the distracted Alistair, Morrigan mumbled something and a row of snowballs levitated into the area.

"Zevran! Your back is open!" She yelled loudly and the witch couldn't help but smile at Zevran's shocked expression as the ten snowballs aimed themselves right at Zevran's head before firing. A slew of Antivan curses erupted into the air before the elf too succumbed to the power of snow.

"Hey! No magic allowed!" The bronze-skinned elf cried out and the elf rolled to the side to avoid another assault, this time having originated from Leliana.

"Who needs magic to hit you, Zev?!" The redhead shouted out and she giggled when Zevran gracefully jumped to his feet only to throw two large snowballs at her face. The archer dodged to the side but a third one finally struck her on her left breast and she fumed at Zevran's bark of laughter.

"I think we should kill him," Morrigan casually stated for the witch was struck on the breasts as well by Zevran's weapon of choice. Leliana agreed and as the two women began to plan on how to take out Zevran with only snowballs as weapons, the poor elf suddenly realized that he was in a rather precarious position.

"Ready, Morrigan?" Leliana asked of the dark-haired witch and Morrigan nodded her head.

"Oh no! Magic is not allowed but two on one? That is not fair, my friends!" Zevran shook his head ruefully but a smile on that delicate elfin face belied his true feelings. The elf found himself experiencing something that was lacking in his entire life: pure joy. Just stupid fun without having to get something out of it like murdering someone or retrieving a stolen artifact.

Even Sten's mood lightened up and the Qunari watched with curious eyes as his friends attacked each other with snow. His sword, Asala, hummed along his back as the men and women he called 'comrades' moved with heavy feet and light hearts throughout the forest.

The party had spent a good part of the month traveling from Denerim to the forests that barricaded the southern lands from the Frostback Mountains. Hadrian ensured that everyone bought any essentials that they might need for their journey to the icy wilderness. The supplies and equipment repairs would have cost the Warden a fortune were it not for the shrewd mind of Bodahn. Despite his height and his tendency to 'pick up' unwanted items along the way, the dwarf certainly had a talent for barter and trade. However, it was Zevran who prevented the deals from being undervalued and, of course, helping the Crows out, indirectly of course, supplied Hadrian and the others with a rare opportunity to purchase powerful poisons and grenades that Zevran loved to use.

From the poisons, Zevran made quite a handful of antidotes and the potions were put to good use, especially from an incident a week prior to their current position when a bandit slathered soldier's bane on his arrows and fired them at Hadrian.

That day, no one really wanted to get on Alistair's bad side. When Hadrian suddenly fell down, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, the man literally went mad with rage and Sten admired the brutality, the strength behind his comrade's movements. The Qunari, unfortunately, was the only one who liked the sudden switch from Alistair's sweet and bashful side to this monstrous being who tore his opponents apart with his bare hands. The women, while they didn't exactly cower in fear of their friend, eyed Alistair warily and Zevran had to do a lot of smooth-talking to talk Alistair down and to also convince the other warden that the antidote was necessary and had to be taken by mouth.

Thus, Sten was not wholly surprised to see Alistair hovering by _Kadan,_ all night and day. _Kadan_. That title weighed heavily in the Qunari's mind for it served as an acknowledgment of respect. The highest in his culture. If the Arishok himself had asked to kill this man specifically, Sten would deliberately not look for him on the battlefield should that day come. One day, he would have to decide the warden's fate but not now. Now, he can just be content in witnessing the silliness of his friends and enjoy the company of the Mabari that stood sentinel next to him.

The winter sun soon retreated back to its western abode and, with night fast approaching, the party had to quickly prepare the tents. Morrigan even cast a spell that kept out the harsh freezing temperatures and, when Hadrian thanked her, the witch just replied with a haughty comment that warden icicles were not useful in a fight. A slight smile offset the harshness of her tone and Hadrian then did something that he'd never done before. He _hugged_ her, the way an older brother would hug a little sister. The embrace, as short as it was, touched something inside her and a speechless Morrigan was left behind to her own devices.

Alistair looked as confused as she but the bumbling idiot, for once, kept his mouth shut and simply followed Hadrian out of the campsite. Morrigan didn't have to wonder where they were going but, despite having traveled with her companions for over six months, she still didn't know why Hadrian would leave the camping grounds. Thus, tonight, when everyone slept soundly in their tents, she too would slip out and see what the two men could possibly be doing this late at night.

-o0o-

The full moon provided enough light for the two men to journey to a small alcove, a location memorized through repetitive trips. It faced away from the campsite and looked up at the sloping snowy embankments that would soon turn into rocky hills farther up north. Several creeks wound their way around the alcove but with temperatures so cold, the waters had all frozen up. Even so, the two wardens had to be careful in finding their way down there or risk falling and breaking a bone.

As the pair carefully made their way over the rocky riverside, Hadrian threw a backward glance at the handsome man following him and he grinned mischievously before suddenly darting forward to disappear into the evergreens that surrounded their alcove. The blonde growled at how quickly his partner ran from him and he sniffed the area before grinning lasciviously.

Tantalizing odors of sandalwood and mint drifted into his olfactory senses and alighted the arousal that burned lowly inside his very being. He crouched low to the ground and focused on what Hadrian had said to him a few weeks ago: _the wolf is part of you...be the animal that calls to you..._

The change had been excruciating initially and it was only the presence of another wolf beside him that mitigated his instinct to lash to kill and maim everything in sight. His Alpha instincts, with its dark sultry voice, whispered to him to take what was through strength and will. To treat the wolf at his side with utmost respect and to kill all those who dared to defile him, whether it be by name and by body. After having undergone this celestial transformation several times, he had time to fully take in what he had become.

It only took him a second to regard the watcher in the light of the small, frozen creek. His fur was dark and thus made it easier for him to discern his true face. Golden eyes blazed back at him and his ears, large even for a wolf, twitched restlessly as he listened to the sounds of the wilderness. The quiet hoots of an owl, the soft scratching of a rabbit as it tries to borrow into a dead trunk. Most of all, he focused on the sounds of his mate running through the woods and he took off, leaving no footprints behind as if he wasn't there at all.

This feeling of running wildly, into the cold, free of all the trappings of his human life, was exhilirating and he would have howled out his delight in this newfound freedom of his. However, tonight he was hunting a prey that wanted to be caught and devoured.

Hadrian for his part really did his best to lose his lover but somehow Alistair always manages to find him, even with a good head start. The young warden attempted to circle back, in an attempt to confuse his hunter, but instead, he found himself getting caught within that same loop and let out a small yip as his hunter bowled into him, straddling his back and with teeth in his neck. He made a show to struggle, to least put some effort in trying to dislodge his lover. The teeth merely tightened their hold on the scruff of his neck and a warning growl reverberated throughout his entire body.

Knowing that it wasn't of any use, Hadrian became limp and he whimpered as a hot tongue laved that small hurt in approval.

_Change back..._

Alistair spoke to him and Hadrian obeyed him; he shifted and found that Alistair had also shifted back. His muscular chest pressed hard against his back and forced Hadrian deeper into the heavy snow. While the Cousland was all for rutting like wild animals in the woods, he wasn't quite fond of freezing his balls either.

"...Alistair..." Hadrian started to say but the other man wasn't listening to him. Strong, confident hands kneaded his shoulders, releasing any tension from the muscles, before traveling further down to caress his buttocks. Then the hands became fingers that teased him endlessly but before Hadrian could reach his climax, they stopped and that warmth at his back soon drew back, leaving him bare to the frigid winter air.

"Hold on," Alistair murmured to him and, before Hadrian could ask what in the Black City he was doing, the dark-haired man found himself gathered into strong arms and holding onto those same arms for dear life as Alistair literally sped across the ten miles the pair had traveled from the alcove and gently deposited him into the cave that was their temporary shelter on nights like this.

Bedrolls from their first night here were left undisturbed and thus, Alistair wasted no time in taking his lover to them. He kissed Hadrian roughly, with his gentle strokes and massages offsetting the kisses' harshness. Quiet whimpers echoed in the cave as Alistair nibbled none too gently at his earlobe before turning his attention to the bared throat.

Clawed fingers tore into his shoulders when he nipped and licked at the exposed column of flesh. Hadrian jumped at the sensation of a hot tongue brushing over his stiffening nipple and he gasped out loud when Alistair tugged at it lightly between his teeth.

"Ahh! Alistair..."

"Sshh...I'm busy here," Alistair's voice vibrated through that same nipple, making Hadrian groan heavily. If anything turned Hadrian more than ever, it was sound of that voice. Whether it be in a jesting mood or commanding him, the low timbre pitch never failed to start the fires of passion in Hadrian.

Thus, as Hadrian moaned and shivered underneath the onslaught of Alistair's voice and hands, the young man was helpless in his lover's dominating grasp. He too willingly followed Alistair's instructions to hold his hands above his head, to not move them an inch even when Alistair would worship him with teeth and tongue. He obeyed his lover to not touch himself as the blonde would turn him on hands and knees; to resist the urge to take himself in hand was difficult and more than once, Hadrian discovered himself automatically reaching for himself when he was taken again and again. More than once, Alistair had to show him who was in charge by biting him on his throat, by not permitting him to come until he was commanded to.

When he was finally allowed to, with Alistair whispering sweet endearments to him, Hadrian honestly thought his sex life couldn't get any better than this. He was wrong. Horribly and yet delightfully wrong.

As he released into Alistair's hand, he collapsed into an exhausted sleep, tired by his exertions of undergoing seven rounds of mind-blowing sex with his insatiable Alpha. He was so tired that he failed to see an owl looking down upon him and Alistair with intelligent golden eyes. The owl released several hoots before flying away in a southerly direction, where the main camp was. The revelation of who the owl could be didn't dawn on Hadrian until it was much too late, to his embarrassment and a certain golden-eyed witch's delight.

-TBC-

A/N: A little more insight from Sten and Morrigan in addition to some light smut between our favourite couple! It's hard to write good smexy times without it sounding like a textbook. I'm still working on improving the semxy scenes so please bear with me! :D


	56. The Liar and the Gentleman

**Chapter 56: The Liar and the Gentleman**

"Err...let me get this straight," Hadrian asked the drunken dwarf currently blocking his way to the main entrance of the Deep Roads. "You want to go with us because Branka broke your heart?"

"No, you nug-humper! Weren't...weren't you listening?" The dwarf belched then and all the party members looked ready to vomit their breakfast. Morrigan's lips twisted into a nasty grimace and everyone knew that the witch had been itching for an excuse to turn someone unseemly into a toad.

"If he's going," she stated, "I'm staying in the back, upwind of him at all times."

"He's not the only one who makes noises," Leliana giggled and Zevran couldn't help but give a smirk of his own at Morrigan, causing the latter to redden so much that her face was akin to a tomato.

"I do not make noises!" Morrigan huffed indignantly and her arms crossed underneath her bare bosom. Despite Hadrian having bought upgrades to everyone's weapons and armor, the witch insisted on wearing her low-cut top and leather leggings. However, she was most grateful when she received the black grimoire once possessed by her her mother and then subsequently lost to the Circle of Magi and even happier after being promised by Hadrian that her mother would be dealt after dealing with the dwarves. The witch, too familiar with being betrayed by empty promises, knew when people were lying to her but Hadrian seemed honest enough to follow through. After all, he hadn't thrown her out of camp yet and these strange signs of _affection_ occurred more and more frequently. _Love is weak, child. Only the strongest survive._ Her mother's teachings hardened Morrigan to the point where the witch believed it to be true. Power is what matters most.

And here, right before her very eyes, was an occurrence that not only defied her mother's teachings but went farther beyond that. This show of friendship between everyone in the group, the unconditional love that shone brightly from the two warriors standing in front of her made the witch feel uneasy and confused. Was her mother wrong after all? After all, human nature had many nuances, from the weak-willed sycophants to savage beasts. Witnessing this rare form of love was a revelation to her, making her feel something she thought she'd never feel with anyone else. It wasn't jealousy, even though Hadrian is indeed a handsome man. No, Morrigan actually _wanted_ to become part of the group. She wanted to be a part of the camaraderie that flowed so easily amongst the others. She wanted to be someone important to another person and right now, travelling with Hadrian, she _is_ someone important. A valued witch of power and...and a friend.

"Apparently, she is so disgusted by the dwarf's aroma that she has become a mute!" Zevran's coarse laughter broke the witch's reverie and Morrigan tapped him on the shoulder lightly only to send out a jolt of lightning.

The elf jumped in surprise and he laughed even more. Morrigan had forgotten that the elf liked a little bit of pain.

"Hey, cut it out you two!" Hadrian's sharp bark cut through the antic like a knife and grumbles of 'hard-ass' and 'stick in the mud' rumbled throughout the warrior's friends. The words of resentment were, of course, said with smiles on their faces and Hadrian sighed heavily, knowing that perhaps this moment of joviality is needed before heading into the Deep Roads.

-o0o-

"Maker, I think I'm going to be sick," someone moaned in the darkness and retching sounds followed soon after. The smell of vomit was worse than the newcomer's belches but it didn't faze the dwarf either. He merely droned on and on about the Deep Roads and how everyone was trying to get a piece of Branka for political gain.

Hadrian hadn't wanted to leave Alistair behind but he needed a rogue and a mage in the party. However, the spot at his right side, where the dwarf currently resided, felt irrevocably empty and his weapons became even heavier than usual. His reasoning to Alistair, stupid as it sounded then and still now, was that it was better if only one Grey Warden succumbed to the dark whispers of the taint and those who carry it.

"If you don't return in a week's time, I'll come and find you," the blonde promised in a fervent manner and Alistair kissed him, on the lips, in front of everyone. While their relationship was probably no secret to their friends, he certainly felt uncomfortable being so exposed to the unknown dwarves.

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Hadrian teased back but Alistair would have none of that. The other warden took his chin in a forceful grip and almost growled in his face, the act demanding him to submit to the other man. Oh fuck...seeing sharp canines elongating a bit and the way those dark brown eyes flashed golden at him made Hadrian regret saying those words to him. He was in for it now and it gave him something to look forward to at the end of this horrific journey into the deep.

Suprisingly enough, it was Morrigan and Zevran who had joined the other warriors. The odd mage and rogue pair worried Hadrian a bit for the two had never fought alongside each other before. It had always been Wynne and Leliana or Wynne and Zevran fighting with him.

Morrigan had actually volunteered to go, so long as she stood upwind of the dwarf's farts and belches. Also, she appeared ready to want to have a good, soul-searching discussion with just Hadrian. No Alistair to watch over them like a beast wanting to rip her to shreds for just being near with Hadrian.

"Hadrian, you are lucky that I just managed to master the healing spells. I would hate it if you and this disgusting excuse of a dwarf die and leave us to fend for ourselves."

"Do not worry, dear Morrigan," Zevran chuckled and the elf twirled his daggers in his hands. "I will always protect you and your bosom from these darkspawn."

Morrigan's eyebrow twitched in annoyance at Zevran's cavalier manner of talking about her chest.

"I would worry more about protecting your balls than my own bosom. It is no wonder that Wynne avoids you at all times in the campsite."

"This armor, despite its leathery appearance," Zevran sniffed the air expectantly and sighed in pleasure, "protects me in all places."

"I'm sure," Morrigan replied dryly.

Hadrian shook his head at the way the two bantered and bickered all the way from Ortan Thaig to Cairidin's Crossing. Then the bickering stopped. Not because the two were tired of outwitting the other but due to the creepiness of the Deep Roads. All four of them, even the dwarf himself, quietened for each whisper echoed endlessly down the long marble bridge that ended at the expansive set of doors where two groups of darkspawn archers, emissaries and ogres awaited them.

Each footstep took them deeper and deeper into the fleshy tunnels, where a woman's voice could be heard singing out in the air that stank of rotting flesh and corruption of the worst kind. No one said anything about Hadrian retching a couple of times while they explored even further down. Even Oghren halted his excessive burps and farts. The red-haired dwarf knew when to be serious, although he did find splitting darkspawn heads open with his axe more fun than Hadrian.

When they finally arrived at the source of that chilling voice, all four wished they hadn't. The foursome found her standing in a corner, dressed in tattered clothes that reeked of urine and weeks' old blood The female dwarf's skin, mottled with bruises and darkspots, was pale and her milky eyes, bereft of any intelligence that once existed, stared at them with cold, calculating hunger.

What was scarier than meeting up with a female dwarf was seeing the monstrous result of a female forced to eat darkspawn flesh for weeks, months on end. Morrigan herself gagged at the horrendous sight of that giant flesh moving around, of that flattened face with rows of sharp teeth and beady black eyes. Of course, they didn't have time to fully take in the awful sight of a Broodmother as hordes of darkspawn spilled into the area, thus trapping them there.

Once it was all said and done, with Zevran finishing the Broodmother off by shoving his daggers deep into the nape of her neck, the four literally sprinted to the exit, not really wishing to stick around to see what happens to a deceased Broodmother.

"You know," Zevran panted, catching his breath once they managed to reach a safer area. "I think Alistair's one lucky bastard."

"What do you mean, Zev?" Hadrian replied and the noble gulped down a stamina draught quickly. The potion worked wonders and already he could feel his muscles itching for another battle, another exciting round of life-threatening skirmishes

"That he's not down here, with us, and that he's a male. See, Morrigan, this is your inspiration to _not_ be left behind here," Zevran continued and the elf pouted when Morrigan withdrew her offer of a stamina draught.

"Morrigan," Hadrian's voice strained with exasperation. "He's just joking, sort of."

"Hmmph. If you think you're going to leave me behind so easily, then you're sadly mistaken." Morrigan eventually gave the elf the potion but only out of necessity. "However, I do wonder what our compatriots are up to."

"Probably to no good. Hope they camp outside of Ozammar," Hadrian said.

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust this Lord Harrowmont. He smells bitter, like a festering wound."

"And Bhelen?"

"Strong like steel and not very malleable. However, he is more forthcoming with his intentions of Orzammar's future."

"And how would you know this when you just talked to the dwarf-prince for five minutes?" Morrigan continued her line of questions. Her sudden curiosity irked Hadrian but the noble decided to humor her at least for the moment.

"Because I can smell what he is, what he knows, and what he truly wants."

"And pray tell, what does he want?"

"To win or die."

-o0o-

It had been almost two weeks since Hadrian and the others left but there was still no sign of them. Alistair's frantic pacing and frequent glances at Ozammar's entrance drove the others crazy but they too felt that something had gone wrong and they couldn't do anything about it. This revelation of their helplessness made the waiting game almost unbearable to handle and Alistair had just about enough of this.

"Alistair, please stop pacing! You're wearing the path down so much that you're going to get stuck in the hole you've just made!" Wynne sounded tired and Alistair jerked his head up to give a once-over to the healer.

The older mage had sat down on one of the bedrolls, with a book lying in her lap. It was too far away from Alistair to discern the book's contents but the warrior could tell that it involved magic of some sort. Probably an advanced version of the healing spells Wynne was always using.

When Hadrian took Morrigan of all people with him, Alistair wanted to challenge him, to practically force his lover to have Wynne in his group instead of the golden-eyed witch. Why did he take her and not Wynne? Was it to allow the witch to prove herself to the group? Or simply that Hadrian didn't trust her enough to go wandering about the dirty streets of Ozammar in search of forbidden tomes and the like.

Knowing his lover, it was probably a little bit of both but that didn't allay Alistair's worries.

"I'm quite sure the young man is alright, as well as the others," Bodahn's calm and confident voice calmed the blonde down a bit, at least enough so that the warden was able to accept a hot bowl of soup without spilling its contents.

"Something happened and I don't like it," Alistair replied and he wasn't going to drink the soup until Bodahn gave him a stern eye. Dwarves can be scary when their offers of food and gifts are refused. Thus, he relaxed and merely sipped at his dinner all the while trying not to meet Bodahn's eyes nor gaze at the unmoving doors of Ozammer.

Apparently satisfied with the warrior's actions, Bodahn smiled at Alistair before returning to the firepit that Wynne managed to create not too long ago. Everyone had camped around the warm hearth, even Sten, whose imposing stature warded off any possible strangers that might accost them. Leliana had sat beside Wynne, humming to herself while sharpening her arrows.

It appeared that no one else was worried about the delay in their friends' return, only Alistair. They, however, didn't have a wolf inside them, growling and snarling at its mate's absence. It demanded Alistair to go after his lover but the blonde just couldn't leave his friends behind. Also, it would be stupid of him to go stomping after Hadrian in the Deep Roads, alone and unprepared.

_**Kill the Defiled One...protect mate...**_

The voice was stronger this time, as was the urge to charge in there, and just when Alistair almost gave in to his bestial side, a shout of 'Hadrian!' drew his attention away from himself and to the doors opening up slowly. Four figures could be seen emerging from the darkness of the interior and the _wolf_ howled in relief at the sight of a dark-haired man. However, relief and happiness soon gave way to worry and anger when he realized that Hadrian was in actuality being supported by Morrigan and Zevran. Even from ten feet away, the scent of the taint and blood overwhelmed him and it made Alistair want to gag from the stench.

"Hadrian! Maker's breath, he's bleeding!"

"And heavy! Will someone please assist me in this?" If it were under any other circumstances, Alistair would have found Morrigan struggling to keep her balance funny. The blonde immediately took Hadrian's arm from the witch and he unwittingly snarled at the elf who was only trying to help him carry Hadrian closer to the fire, where Wynne was draping a heavy blanket on the rocky ground.

"What happened to him?" Leliana asked of Zevran as the elven assassin all too willingly gave up his position and allowed Alistair to help Hadrian walk to the awaiting healer.

"Well, it's a long story but we finally got the dwarves to join us," Zevran replied and his hands shook a little bit, a sign that the elf was truly disturbed by whatever he had encountered in the Deep Roads. Even Morrigan seemed paler than usual and the witch grumbled underneath her breath, words like 'broodmother' and 'bastard king' coming out of her mouth in an angry tirade.

"Unfortunately, we also found out that a newly joined warden is more sensitive to the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, especially with an Archdemon leading them _out_ of the Deep Roads."

"Stories later," Alistair growled impatiently at the chatting rogues and the two quietened instantly, knowing that any mentions of Hadrian being in danger would only provoke the blonde. Thus, it wasn't until three candlelights later that the others heard the story and Alistair's fists clenched around the wooden cup so hard that it broke. He apologized profusely afterwards for breaking one of Leliana's cups but the female archer would have none of it for she understood how Alistair felt about not being there for his lover.

"He'll be fine," Leliana said in a comforting tone. "Morrigan had healed most of his injuries before we left the Deep Roads. He's just tired and needs rest."

"I hope you're right," Alistair replied and he absently removed an errant lock of hair from his lover's forehead. The _wolf_ stirred restlessly inside him but Alistair clamped it down, not wanting to gave into his baser instincts in front of so many people. From now on, he wasn't ever going to let Hadrian go out of his sight.

-TBC-

A/N: I just realized that I totally forgot about adding Oghren towards the end of this chappie! Well, I'll think of something to explain his absence at the campsite. Unto other matters, hope you all like this filler of a chapter. I would have updated way sooner but working nights for the past three months is brutal on the body and mind.


	57. Chapter 57

57: A Promise Kept

"I need to speak with the _actual_ Grey Warden, not you, dim-witted one," Morrigan's sharp tone normally would have provoked some biting remark from her victim but Alistair chose to stay his tongue. However, if looks could kill, Morrigan would have been buried six feet under twice over by now.

"Alistair, she's just goading you into saying something stupid and self-incriminating," the other Warden assuaged his lover while his hand caressed the blonde's lower back in soothing circles. It was a sneaky tactic on Hadrian's part but it never failed to calm Alistair, whether he liked it or not.

"'Tis true. But enough of this. I wish to speak to Hadrian,_"_ Morrigan continued and she glared at Alistair when the man remained at Hadrian's side. "_Alone_."

"He already knows," Hadrian said and he had the grace to look sheepish towards Morrigan when the witch's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What? You can't expect me to keep secrets from my own heart," Hadrian said in response to Morrigan's baleful glare but it lacked the usual sting and Hadrian gave the witch a small smile.

"No matter. The way you two look at each other often compels me to look the other way and gag," Morrigan sighed rather dramatically. "I know you are well on your way to seeing my...my mother slain but I have one last favour to ask of you."

"A favour?" Hadrian was immediately intrigued by Morrigan's request while his lover still scowled at the witch. "There's a catch to this favour, I suppose?"

Everyone wanted something, even the most well-intentioned person. Unfortunately want and need were two entirely different things, a concept Hadrian understood all too well in this harsh life of being a Grey Warden and a noble as well.

"She will not stay dead but there is something that could prevent her from taking over another host," Morrigan continued and Hadrian tensed at what she could be suggesting.

"Blood magic?"

"Yes and I've...learned something that might interest you both."

"Just say whatever you have to say, Morrigan." Alistair spoke sharply to her and his arms crossed over, his posture becoming more and more aggressive by the second.

"Since you have not thrown me out of camp and actually made a lot of effort into...befriending me as it were, I...I want to say 'thank-you' and then I realized that actions speak more than mere words, at least to you men of physical prowess. So I've decided to tell you now instead of later, when it's too late to go back."

"What are you saying Morrigan?" Hadrian asked her.

The witch sighed again and both men noticed that goosebumps rose all along her arms. Her body shivered, and while the night was indeed a bit cooler than normal, the temperature was not cold enough to brook such a reaction from Morrigan.

"The _real_ reason why Flemeth saved you, why she sent me with you is to hope that you and I would bear a child on the final battle's eve. This child would be a willing receptacle for another soul, either that of hers or the Archdemon when it is finally slain."

"What?! Why would she do this to us?! What would have been the point in letting us gather allies and slay the dragon in the end if it is all for naught?" Alistair cried out.

Morrigan had expected Alistair to shout and rant about Flemeth's true plans and under-handed ways. It was Hadrian's response that worried her truly. At best she would have lost a friend and at worst, she would receive a sword in the gut.

Hadrian's head was bowed down and so she couldn't see into his eyes, to decipher what he might think to do next. Eventually, Alistair calmed down but his body was tense, as if ready to strike the witch down if Hadrian wished him to.

Finally, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Hadrian's head rose and two cerulean eyes met hers. They were unusually bright and fierce; so much so that the witch was painfully reminded of their little 'argument' back in the tower which ended her in being pinned against the wall and fearing for her life.

"Then, we'll cut off the snake's head and burn it," Hadrian growled and Morrigan would swear even far into the future that she could see another entity staring at her through those unnatural blue eyes.

"Well I am glad that you've decided to kill my dear, sweet mother," Morrigan continued, "she is not to be underestimated. She is a witch of great power and you'll need all the potions, all the balms available to you to survive her."

"Can I safely assume that you've already made these balms then?"

"Yes, they're all in this pouch and I gave some extras to that _other_ mage," Morrigan replied and she gave Hadrian a small leather bag, its size too small to possibly contain all the essential potions. When Hadrian's eyebrows raised in question, Morrigan was quick to elaborate that the bag is much bigger on the inside. Hadrian opened it with just the tip of his index finger and Alistair whistled at the sight of a few dozen bottles, all coloured differently depending on the function of the potion.

"Ok," Hadrian sighed in relief, "I think we _may_ just survive tomorrow then. First Flemeth and then Ostagar."

"I'm coming with you for both trips," Alistair stated, his nonsensical tone leaving no room for Hadrian to protest. The blonde Warden was still fairly shaken up by the first and last time he let Hadrian out of his sight for more than a week. The indelible images of Hadrian's pale visage and haunted eyes had kept Alistair up all night and the blonde would frequently find himself holding a shaking pale body tightly in his arms. The following week had been terrible for both men and it was only by comforting each other with soft kisses and strong embraces that they managed to endure the nightmares of the Deep Roads. Hadrian had spoken of it only once to Alistair but it was enough for the blonde to piece together what had happened in the forgotten roads of Ozammar.

During that time, Hadrian, had he not been so traumatized by the events that transpired out of selfishness and greed of a paragon, would have fought against Alistair's sudden possessiveness. The blonde kept an even closer eye on his partner and literally growled at anyone who glanced in Hadrian's way, whether it be out of friendliness or hostility. Luckily, their companions understood the reason behind Alistair's hostility towards anyone and everyone, even Zevran himself, went out of their way to ensure that the two Wardens were not disturbed at night.

The abrupt change in Alistair's behaviour made Zevran think of Fergus, of the way the older Cousland brother would smile wolfishly at him. The elf couldn't help but wonder if Fergus would act like this around him if he ever got seriously hurt or even just go out of his sight. Maybe he shouldn't have left Fergus' side but his oath to the Warden obligated him to stay at Hadrian's side, no matter how much his heart yearns to be with the other Cousland. Once this nigh impossible quest of saving Ferelden from the Blight was over, perhaps, he could go back to Fergus. While it was a stupid idea, it warmed Zevran's heart to imagine someone waiting for him at the end of all this, with no ulterior motives hiding behind a handsome face and brown eyes. Perhaps he could finally erase the other handsome visage that haunts his memory, a face covered in a woman's blood and tears. _Taliesin..._

-o0o-

Flemeth's hut appeared so much smaller than the Wardens remembered. Of course, at that time, they weren't exactly conscious either and, with Loghain's betrayal so fresh in their minds, everyone seemed larger than possible. Even Flemeth, who stood patiently outside her door, didn't seem to change much. Her dress was dull and dirty, the seams coming apart at the shoulders and sides. Despite her drabby appearance, the old woman was a dangerous person and not to be taken lightly.

"And so we've come to this at least," Flemeth spoke in a terribly calm voice for a woman expecting to battle the two Wardens and their friends. "What has Morrigan told you this time? Hmm?"

"A lot of things but she did not mention how horribly you dress yourself," Zevran commented and his remark earned him a collective shout of "Zev!" from his friends. The bronze-skinned elf apologized but his mischievous smile told everyone that the apology held no meaning.

Flemeth's hoarse laughter caused everyone's hair to stand up. "My, such levity in a well-armored group of humans and elves."

"Enough," Hadrian almost snarled at the old woman, thus ending the light-hearted tone of the conversation. "We know all about the ritual, Flemeth."

"You know a lot of rituals, don't you, young wolf?" Flemeth's voice hissed back and Hadrian grew startled at how her eyes turned yellow and the way her face shifted every so subtly into that of a great horned dragon. Someone snarled something beside him but the words were lost on him as he was locked into a hypnotic stare with the witch. Apparently, Hadrian was thought to be hurt or incapacitated for he was shoved aside suddenly, the move tearing his gaze away from the old woman's.

"Oh dear, it was never him, was it?" Someone cackled menacingly above him or was it in front of him? The voices were distorted and Hadrian had a hard time focusing his senses. What did she do to him? His thoughts refused to coalesce into a coherent stream and his body shook violently, as if he plunged into a frozen lake. _Za__rieth__! Help!_

The guardian's presence shimmered brightly in his mind and Hadrian gasped, shocked at how aggressive it appeared to him. Tail bristled outwards with ears laid back and teeth bared at him. Suddenly, without any warning, Zarieth charged at him and Hadrian couldn't move, couldn't do anything as his own guardian lunged at him, with the intent to kill clear in the wolf's blue eyes.

Another large form intercepted him and pushed the silver wolf down on the ground, the intruder's teeth latching tightly unto Zarieth's neck.

_Wait! Don't...don't kill him!_

_The witch has threatened my claim over you...in doing so your own instincts are fighting between what's right and what you needed._

The voice shared that unmistakable tenor with that of his lover's and the last thing Hadrian saw, as the intruder turned its full gaze on him, was Alistair's face.

-o0o-

Zevran let out a string of Antivan curses as he blocked Hadrian's strikes while Alistair focused on the dragon herself. The two males and even Wynne were prepared for a full assault from the witch herself. What they didn't expect, however, was Hadrian suddenly turning his sword against them, their friends' eyes strangely blank and his moves too smoothly coordinated, as if he was merely a puppet of someone's will.

"He's enthralled!" Wynne warned the others just as she cast a glyph beneath her feet that repelled the oncoming warrior. The force of the spell knocked the warrior back into the side of the wooden hut but their friend got to his feet quickly, seemingly unaffected by the concussive force. Zevran whistled at the apparent invulnerability of his friend, all the while dodging and slashing shallow cuts into Hadrian's arms, hoping to slow their friend down enough to be knocked out.

The elf held his own against the constant barrage of Hadrian's attacks but eventually time worked against him and his footwork slowed enough to where Zevran tripped slightly backwards. The elf yelped as his other foot went deeper into the ground, mud and water easily giving way to his greater weight. Zevran saw Hadrian jump at him, his longsword held above his head and just waiting to strike the killing blow.

Zevran let out a sigh of resignation and positioned his dagger to where it would hit a non-vital area. It would hurt but perhaps the agony would break whatever hold the witch had on him. His planned defense, fortunately, was not needed as Alistair let out a snarl and tackled the other warrior down just in time for the downswing of Hadrian's sword to miss the bronze-skinned elf's face by mere inches.

What happened next could be anybody's guess, especially Zevran as he was not wholly experienced with blood magic and its thralls. All the elf saw and heard were vicious snarls and hasty scuffles followed by a pained howl and then just silence. A heavy silence that permeated the area around the witch's hut was what roused Zevran from his slight daze.

Wynne knelt at the elf's side, her hands gliding effortlessly over his body.

"Though I can't complain about having a splendid view of your bosom, I am fine," Zevran commented and he let out an 'ow!' when the elderly mage smacked him not too lightly over the head. "But what about our fearless leader?"

"Alistair has taken care of him," Wynne quietly spoke and Zevran's bad habit of making lewd comments about any situation made itself known, despite the wholly inappropriate timing of it.

"And tucked him into bed, right?" Zevran's soft chuckle was met with stoney looks from his friends and the elf's jovial manner disappeared as soon as he saw Alistair's fierce gaze and then Hadrian's bleeding neck. "Is he..."

"The witch's hold has broken. We need to move out, now." Alistair readjusted Hadrian's slumped form as he spoke until he now carried his lover over his shoulders.

"What about that book the old witch kept talking about?" Zevran asked and before Alistair could argue against it, the elf had already picked the lock and then going inside for a short moment before reappearing outside, this time, with a hefty book in hand.

"This witch took her reading seriously!" Zevran groaned and the elf struggled to manhandle the cumbersome book.

"Zevran, quit fondling that book and come on!" Wynne's shout echoed rather eerily in the now vacant area, the hut's owner lying dead right next to it. Even in death, the dragon that was once Flemeth made for an imposing figure of terror and horror.

As the three figures slowly disappeared into the vast wilderness of the Kocari Wilds, a ghostly apparition appeared next to the dragon and she patted the dead beast on the head, whispering quietly as both beast and ghost merged into one being before finally disappearing altogether.

-TBC-

A/N: So, what happens next as the trio defeated the old hag that talks too much? Find out in the next chapter as the trio will not only battle the monsters of Ostagar long thought dead but their own demons as well.


	58. Bumps in the Road

Chapter 58: Bumps in the Road

**Amaranthine**

It was a night of revelry and celebration, due to Andraste's Day having approached upon the denizens of the Coastlands. Every tavern was filled beyond what each structure could safely hold its occupants and thus some people milled about drunkenly around the perimeter, their behaviour closely monitored by stoic guards.

With the guards watching the drunkards and not the surroundings, all failed to see a gentle green light emanate into being on a broad hillside nearby before disappearing softly into the dark night.

Two figures sat on the cold, snowy ground while the third kept a careful watch, standing protectively over the two.

"Why did you transport us here of all places?" The third figure whispered hoarsely to the figure still huddled over another man, his pale hand trembling over the man's heart. "Stop that! You're killing yourself trying to heal this blood mage!"

"Who is also my friend!" The mage responded hotly while still continuing his healing of the unconscious man. "Jowan may be a blood mage but it is my fault that he became one."

Brown eyes narrowed dangerously at the admission and the blonde figure's hand itched to draw his sword and cut Jowan down. Instead, he merely clenched his fists and glowered angrily at the healer; the anger dissipated suddenly at the healer slumping over the other man.

"By Andraste!" Cullen cursed. Here he was, stuck in a foreign city more famously known for the templar extremists it houses than the dreadful history of slavery and magic, with his lover and the man he hates the most. How was he going to carry two mages by himself without arousing suspicion?

Apparently the Maker saw his predicament and sent in the most unlikely help, a group of well-armed individuals who were just on their way to one of the taverns.

"By the Black City, is that...is that who I think it is?!" A familiar voice exclaimed loudly in the cold air. The familiarity of the speaker startled Cullen, who did the only thing he could think of when confronting armed men. He charged at them and shouts of surprise and pain would have been heard if the tavern's denizens have not been so inebriated in drink and celebration.

-o0o-

"Carver! He's a templar!" Arren shouted out and the templar targeted him first, seeing the tallest mage out of all three present as the greatest threat. However, what shocked the tallest sibling the most was that the charging templar didn't think to cast a holy smite spell first. It was the bread and butter for all templar hunters – to stun any mage with that effective spell and then strike them down. Also, the templar was clearly out of his mind for he attacked a diverse group of mages and warrior. It was suicide for a lone templar to outright assault a group of mages without backup. Thus, as he watched Carver knock him back with a vicious backhand, Arren had to paralyze his own brother before the killing blow could be dealt.

"Andraste's knickers! It is him!" The blonde cried out as he approached the still templar, furious dark brown eyes staring into his own. "Let him go, Arren. I know who it is,"

"He's a templar, Anders. I don't think we should..." Arren paused at the way Anders implored him and there was a sigh followed by the sound of a spell being dissipated. Carver cursed at his brother but stayed his hand. Instead he merely scowled at the other templar, who hadn't moved from where he landed. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth and Anders moved to his side in his effort to heal that small hurt. The blonde mage was not entirely surprised by the templar's brief flinch from him, seeing as Anders heard through rumors about the Circle's former predicament.

"Don't touch me, mage!" The other man cried out and he swiped a dagger at the blonde mage, successfully drawing blood from Anders' shoulder. Anders cried out in pain and clutched at the new wound. Someone roared out his name and before he could stop it, he saw Arren run forward and deck the man across the jaw. The move caused the man's head to snap back and the templar fell limply against the grass, unmoving and unconscious.

"Great," Carver grumbled, "we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with a templar. Now what?"

"Just for that comment, Carver, you get to carry him," Arren replied a little caustically while he motioned for his sister to grab hold of one of the mages.

"Somehow I imagine myself back here," Anders gibed, trying to lessen the tension between the brothers, "but not to help templars..."

"C'me on, we didn't travel two thousand leagues from Kirkwall just to stop here," Arren continued but he gave Anders a relieved smile. "Good thing we left mother back in Amaranthine...she would be absolutely horrified to see another templar after this..."

The Hawke siblings had indeed left Kirkwall, with a reluctant mother in tow. Gamlen, their ever so hospitable uncle, actually begged them to stay and he even attempted to blackmail Arren to stay by threatening to tell the Knight-Commander herself of their mage status. Needless to say, Arren wouldn't stand for that and Gamlen sported a bruised jaw for several days at least. Even Carver scowled at the sleazy uncle and that was saying something in Anders' opinion.

The blonde mage listened to the voice in his dreams and he knew that it wasn't a demon seducing him to its will. It felt as if it came from inside of him, another piece of his conscience perhaps that was freed by Arren's presence. He certainly had never heard of it before or maybe he did in his most desperate hour, like in solitary confinement.

The soothing whispers that comforted him in the cold darkness of his tight prison, that helped him get past through the sudden violence of his templar jailors who often slaked their lust by using his body. All he had to do was close his eyes and shut off the jarring pain of being violated, the coarse gauntlets scratching his hips as he was pinned down underneath his rapists. However, even in the aftermath, Anders was helpless to prevent the events from occurring again and again. The voice didn't do anything physically to stop it and the blonde mage had often wondered if perhaps he was going insane from the loneliness of his prison. It wasn't until he met this mysterious tall man of similar status that the voice inside of him cried out in jubilation and Anders paused for a second, his hand clutching at his chest. It almost _hurt_ to feel the voice, as if it was trying to escape from Ander's body in its bid to join the handsome man. Then that dream...of the dragons that called out to him and beseeching him to get out of Kirkwall and look for one of them.

How in Thedas was he going to look for one of the Old Gods when, according to the Chantry, they were all but banished underground, imprisoned for all eternity by the Maker Himself.

"Anders?" The low, soft murmur of his name drew Anders' attention from himself to the mage standing in front of him. Gentle golden eyes gazed at him in deep concern and Anders, not used to the full attention of someone who fully desired him, blushed slightly before clearing his throat.

"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound, see?" A slender finger dragged over the minor scratch and once it withdrew from his shoulder, the wound was gone. Appeased by the wound's disappearance, Arren nodded and squeezed the opposite shoulder before heading out to Bethany's side. With the two pulling up one mage, Bethany managed to gently drape the stranger over her brother's shoulder.

The other one mage, unlike his other counterpart, drew a reaction from Bethany and Arren swiftly turned, the weight of another man clearly not bothering the eldest mage at all.

"It's him, Arren! It's our cousin!"

"Not the best time for a family reunion, Bethany," Arren gently hurried his sister along and Anders offered to take their cousin.

Slowed by the presence of three more people into their company, the foursome's trek to a hidden house near the city took even longer than normal and it was by mere chance that they were not accosted by bandits along the way.

"So, how did you find this place?" Anders asked as the door closed behind him and all three men gently laid down their burden on the cots available.

"Actually, my father once used this as a safe house...in case..." The dark-haired mage's sentence trailed off and Anders understood why. The family has always been on the run from templars and from what Arren told him of their father's history, it wasn't always so successful. Thus, safe houses had to be erected for emergencies such as this and Anders didn't want to ask if such a safe house couldn't be reached in time.

"Come on, brother," Carver interrupted them, "we can't take care of these strangers just standing here." Bitterness laced his tone but no one could blame him really. The quest, or rather Anders' quest, was going to be hard enough with just the four of them. Now, with two mages, one of them a cousin to the Hawkes, as well as a templar, it would no doubt put a strain on their dwindling resources and time. Anders could only hope that his decision in listening to the warning of his last dream wouldn't lead to their deaths.

-o0o-

**Ostagar**

The stench of their last kill followed the group of two men and an elderly woman all the way from Flemeth's hut to the snowy bridge of Ostagar. Winter was harsher than normal, even for the Kocari Wilds, and Wynne did her best in keeping everyone warm with her spells and greater warmth balms. Thankfully, Morrigan had the foresight to include the latter in great numbers in the small pouch Alistair now carried underneath his breastplate.

Not wanting to bring all the darkspawn down on their heads, the threesome had camped near the bridge, where Alistair judged to be the area with the least number of darkspawn patrolling about. Killing Flemeth had taken a toll on them, as did the journey, but the few days of convalescing improved their conditions greatly, especially Hadrian.

Zevran found it rather amusing and quite arousing to see the handsome Prince of Ferelden hover over their fearless leader like a mother hen. The complaints and shouts followed by soft laughter, not giggles according to Alistair, should have alerted every darkspawn in the area to their presence but miraculously the tainted creatures had left them alone, for now at least.

Hadrian had apologized profusely to both Zevran and Wynne, obviously feeling guilty about assaulting his trusted friends without warning. Both waved off the apologies and forgave the Warden; the ease of their forgiveness still could not stop their leader from showing remorse at his unexpected assault.

"Stop skulking so much, my dear Warden," Zevran said when the elf finally had a chance to speak with the man without Alistair nearby. "Your constant need for self-mutilation does you no good when killing darkspawn, yes?"

"I know, Zev," Hadrian sighed and his hands shook a little while they attempted to buckle the side straps of his armor. "It's just...I can't believe I fell for that...I wore the Litany of Adralla and still that damned witch took over."

"The what?" Zevran had no clue as to what the dark-haired Cousland was talking about and Hadrian explained it to the elf that it was a manuscript that gave the wearer resistance to the lure of blood magic spells.

"We got it from the Circle, after a pain in the ass chase in the Fade," Hadrian finished his tale but the annoyance of that trip into the Fade still showed in his scowl.

"So, how was the make-up sex?" Zevran just had to ask. He couldn't help himself and the images of the two Wardens tangling themselves in rough sex certainly aroused his senses. Too bad Fergus was not here for him to provide a physical outlet for his libido.

"We...uhh...that is..." Hadrian's usual confidence evaporated underneath the abrupt attention of the assassin. He was about to say something when Alistair suddenly appeared, his eyes fierce and fixed on the elf.

Zevran chuckled then and he rose up from his sitting place, idly brushing away the snow that collected on his leather pants.

"I perhaps should see if the lovely Wynne needs my help in anything," he bowed to them and then turned away, humming to himself.

Once the elf left the pair to their own devices, Hadrian let out another sigh, this time of exasperation with Alistair.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Because it's not his place to question what we do in our own tent," Alistair growled back, all the while sharpening his longsword with a whetstone, a gift from Leliana for his birthday.

"It's not as if he doesn't already know what we do; he could probably hear us grunting and moaning every time we are in camp," Hadrian yawned and he stretched out on his bedroll. Unfortunately, it was the wrong move to make for Alistair straddled his hips and then pinned his hands above his head.

"Whatever sounds you make is for mine to hear, no one else's," Alistair snarled at him, apparently none too happy with the levity of his remark of being overheard.

"Al-" Hadrian began to say but his words were lost in a kiss. Despite the roughness of Alistair's words, the kiss was remarkably gentle and the Cousland groaned as Alistair deepened the kiss by letting their tongues dance with each other. It literally took his breath away and when Alistair drew back, Hadrian found himself panting heavily, sounding as if he had just run several miles.

There was an odd look to those dark brown eyes and Hadrian couldn't fathom why it was there. Immediately upon awakening from whatever spell Flemeth had cast on him, he was extremely submissive to Alistair, much more than usual, and the memories of that night still aroused him even to this day. He had been licked and bitten pretty much on every piece of skin that was exposed to Alistair's hot tongue and sharp teeth. More than once Alistair denied him release, despite his continued teasing of Hadrian, until they were finally joined and Hadrian felt sorry for both Wynne and Zevran. Wynne had wanted to cast a silencing spell around their tent but she wanted to reserve her mana for battle and unexpected surprises.

"_You are mine,"_ _Alistair growled in his ear as Hadrian was penetrated quite roughly, the only lube being his lover's tongue. "Not your family's...not Flemeth..." Each pause had been punctuated by a sharp thrust that hit his prostate mercilessly. _

_Hadrian's cries were muffled by the soft cloth in his mouth, to dampen his loud screams of passion._

"_If anyone takes you away," Alistair continued though a little out of breath this time as the blonde took his lover again and again, this time on their sides. "I will rip their throats out myself,"_

The blonde warrior had quickly learned his role of Alpha and he had no problems dominating Hadrian now. Gone was the stumbling fool, the unsure Prince of Ferelden who couldn't even string together a confession of love for him. Now, Hadrian has a strong Alpha and, while the Cousland was proud that Alistair was taking a stand for himself, he wasn't sure if he could survive the sexual fallout of that. No doubt it would be a willing death that Hadrian would submit himself to.

"Never do that again," Alistair warned him or was the blonde beseeching him instead? He could never tell with the way the blonde is all over him, pinning him down with his heavier weight. "I do not want to see another take you, whether it be body or mind. Both are mine and mine alone."

His lover's voice cracked slightly and Hadrian kissed him, knowing that action spoke more clearly to his lover than words. Seeing as how either Zevran or Wynne could suddenly stumble upon them, both men decided to climb into their tent and continued what they had started, much to Wynne's annoyance.

The elderly witch threw her hands in the air and finally risked announcing their presence to any darkspawn by casting a silencing spell. She has to get at least one solid night of sleep.

-TBC-

A/N: Yay! One chapter for the new year! I really want to finish this story now so it will be more fast-paced than usual. Any comments/complaints are welcomed. Thanks again! :D


	59. Honor and Glory

Chapter 59: Honor and Glory

The fire burned hotly in the cold night, consuming the royal body of King Maric's son with its cleansing flames. Only two people watched the burning and they stood as still as the statues that guarded the Tower of Ishal. Having thoroughly routed out the darkspawn that inhabited the fortress for so long after its fall, the pair weren't concerned about having been left alone by their friends.

Wynne, exhausted by the battles and constant healing of her companions, retired to her tent while Zevran simply bowed out and left to his own devices, which was really to watch over Hadrian and Alistair without being intrusive about it. Something about this moment told the dark-skinned elf that perhaps Hadrian needed to be alone with his lover. He had never seen the way Hadrian looked like he did now – eyes almost blank and trembling hands, especially when the body was taken down from the spikes it was forced unto at the bridge. The man acted as if he intimately knew the former King of Ferelden but Zevran knew better than to ask, especially with how Alistair was behaving around him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Alistair's eyes snapped upwards and red eyes flashed angrily at him before softening immediately when Hadrian turned into his arms, soft hiccups echoing out in the frigid air. Apparently, standing sentinel wasn't enough but it was all right. Zevran wanted to see how Wynne was doing anyways. Perhaps he could convince to lay his head in her bosom and perhaps she would deny him that comfort once again.

-o0o-

_Little wolf, I can smell you now...you can't hide from me_

_The voice hissed out menacingly at him and Hadrian found himself running through the woods, branches hitting him in the face while shadowy figures chased him down. Guttural shouts followed him until he reached the edge of the forest only to find himself looking at his own family's castle, encased in an angry conflagration. Screams and shrieks rippled throughout the area; the voices of the dying reached out to Hadrian and the young man started to head into the hearth of his home when something pulled him back._

"_You're too late..." His father whispered to him, the burnt skin peeling off his face so as to reveal the glistening muscles underneath. Bone shimmered where it was laid bare to Hadrian's horrified eyes and a pink tongue could be seen moving between rows of teeth._

"_You left us to die at Howe's hand," cried out his mother and her hands took his, only to wrap them around her throat. Against his will, she tightened them until choked gasps were all Hadrian heard. He tried to pull away but the hold was too strong and, thus, he helplessly watched his mother die by his hand._

"_You were supposed to train me to use a sword," little Oren cried out and he appeared before the man, a sword having pierced his chest. "not to die by one...Uncle"_

"_No! No! I tried to save you...I didn't want to leave!" Hadrian shrieked and he all but collapsed to his knees, sobbing in his hands as the voices of the dead crowded him in accusatory tones._

"_Hadrian..." A newer voice, belonging to the only one he has touched and still lives. The deep growl had him look up, despite his fear of seeing the dead staring down at him, and there Alistair stood in front of him. The man's back was to him so he couldn't see the deep red eyes flash angrily at the intruders. All he saw was the golden armor glinting so brightly that he had to close his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, the dead had vanished into the very darkness they were formed from and Alistair was gone._

"_Alistair?" Hadrian called out and his own voice echoed back at him. "Alistair?!"_

_Then an answering howl rang out and Hadrian turned around only to come face to face with a monstrous being that he had only seen once._

"_And so we meet again, Hadrian," the behemoth spoke out in a reverent tone, as if the entity was more awed by the sight of a mere mortal than the other way around. "You've grown much since the last time you were here."_

"_You're..." The implication that he would be visited by the one responsible for his "gift" weighed heavily in his mind._

_The behemoth chuckled but with the way his serrated teeth snapped at the empty air made him a little apprehensive about what the High Lord would do to him._

"_High Lord is one of the many names your kind has given me...perhaps you will know my true name in time, as all mortals do."_

"_Where is Zarieth?" Hadrian was fully aware of his Wolf Protector's absence since his loss of control due to Flemeth's subtle manipulation. The wolf had not made an appearance since then and it worried Hadrian. Such an event had not happened before and the young man wondered if he had lost Zarieth forever._

_The High Lord let out a harsh bark of laughter and the sound of it caused the little hairs on Hadrian's neck to stand up._

"_Worry not, little wolf. He is needed elsewhere, however, as your own self is taking over, thanks to Alistair's rise to Alpha status. There is much to do for you both and this Blight is but a small stepping stone to your greatness or to your doom."_

_The words echoed endlessly around him as the entity's form dissipated into the darkness, leaving Hadrian alone once again._

Blue eyes snapped open and the young man jolted out of his bedroll, gasping as the last vestiges of his nightmare drifted away only to leave behind a warm sensation of another body lying next to him. The fire's soft orange hues encased Alistair's body, making him appear more like a sleeping beauty rather than a savage warrior that Hadrian has known him to be. Lines of worry and stress on his face smoothed out in sleep and Hadrian was sorely tempted to retrace those lines with his fingers. However, his movements must have woken his lover up as well for Alistair's eyes fluttered open and refocused on him.

"...hey..." Alistair's voice was hoarse from slowly waking up but Hadrian didn't mind it. "You're ok?"

"Yeah..." Hadrian didn't care to elaborate on why he was awake before dawn. Alistair slowly sat up and wrapped his arms around him, all the while gently nuzzling his throat.

"Bad dreams again?" Alistair murmured softly and Hadrian moaned at the sensation of soft lips pressing gently against his skin.

"More like reminders of what I lost because of this damned war," Hadrian sighed heavily. "They would have liked you, you know? Especially...especially father and little Oren."

"Tell me about them," Alistair gently asked of him and Hadrian did, surprisingly. He told stories of how he and Fergus would play pranks on each other well until they were of age to find a young noblewoman and marry. He even told Alistair the details of how he was given this gift of lycanthropy but without the bloodlust involved. The subject of King Cailan having initiated a relationship, short and sweet as it was, caused Alistair's eyes to narrow a little bit in jealousy but that was all the reaction Alistair had when Hadrian made references to his past relationships. Nathan Howe was spoken of in disdain for Hadrian did not know either way if the father and the son had plotted his family's downfall together or separately.

"Howe will be there at the Palace when we confront Loghain," Alistair pointed out and Hadrian unwittingly let out a snarl in response. "And we will kill him and Loghain for what they've done."

"Much as I wish to," Hadrian replied, "the Landsmeet is the only way to sway the nobles to our cause. Killing a man who was deemed a hero to them without sufficient evidence will hinder us even more."

"Good thing we're seeing Arl Eamon today then, hmmm? That pesky Archdemon won't wait for a bunch of doddard fools to make their minds up and say 'it's the Blight, nor Orlais we should be worried about!'"

The last statement made Hadrian laugh a bit and he couldn't help but relax in Alistair's arms. This was why he submitted so easily to another man. This strange comforting and loving man was the only one who could possibly make him laugh in a time like this.

"C'me on. We should catch some more sleep before we have to meet with old graybeard," Alistair whispered in his ear and Hadrian found himself all too willing to follow his lover's advice.

Alistair's endearing name of 'old graybeard' certainly matched Arl Eamon's tenacity in manipulating events to his favour as well as voicing out his complaints regarding their relationship. While Hadrian dearly wanted to just grab his lover and run away from all the political machinations of nobles, the young noble knew that they needed Arl Eamon to speak for them at the Landsmeet. The old man may be manipulative but he still cared for the welfare of his vassals and the commoners of Ferelden. Bonds formed out of war and strife could not so easily be broken. Thus, while Hadrian disliked how Arl Eamon handled his affairs, treating Alistair poorly a decade ago and at the behest of an _Orlesian_ woman, the young man still respected the older lord as a person. His father often spoke of Arl Eamon with great fondness and the relationship between the two oldest noble families was strong, made even stronger now when having to fight together against a common enemy.

Hadrian watched with a careful eye the two nobles conversing in quiet tones near the fireplace. Even leaning against the wall furthest away from the hearth, his body felt comfortingly warm. Armor was replaced with satin clothes, a style befitting that of the second most powerful noble family. Fergus was also there, standing off to the side and with Zevran close at hand. He wouldn't dare to say this to his friend, but Zevran's small stature and almost submissive attitude when compared to his own brother clearly indicated that the elf was certainly the "girl" of the relationship. Then again, perhaps Zevran's numerous encounters with men in the bedroom would trump that card. Who knows and Hadrian shook his head, trying to shake away the awful images of his brother and the elf entangling themselves in bed.

"What yer shakin' yer head for, Warden?" A deep voice broke through the images, thankfully, and Hadrian, a little startled that a large and bulky dwarf had sneaked up on him, jumped a bit before stilling and then realizing that the red-haired dwarf had no alcohol on his breath. A remarkable thing indeed.

"Oghren, are you ok?" He had to ask and the dwarf gave him a baleful glare before simply shrugging his shoulders.

"Just realized that perhaps not being drunk at least once in a year would get Felsi in bed with me quicker than I can say 'nug-humper."

"I'm sure," Hadrian's reply earned him a rough slap to the back, which hurt more than Hadrian cared to admit, but it elicited a hoarse chuckle from the dwarf warrior.

"Listen, uhh...I'm not good with words...but..." Oghren began to say and the dwarven seemed at a loss for words. Hadrian just waited patiently for the dwarf to verbally get something off his chest. After a few more seconds, Oghren sighed heavily and then looked at him square in the eye.

"I just want to say thanks, for everything," Oghren finished and if Hadrian hadn't known better, the dwarf's cheeks blushed a little bit. "For getting my head outta my ass about the whole Branka thing and then seeing Felsi again."

"Why are you acting like this, Oghren? If one of us is going to die in the Blight, it's me," Hadrian said, a little too casually according to the dwarf.

"Ya better not let the blonde kid hear ya say that," Oghren's green eyes glanced briefly at Alistair talking with the Arl before returning to his own. The dwarf then excused himself with a belch that came from eating too much of the sweet meats and Hadrian's eyebrow quirked in confusion at Teagan himself laughing with the dwarf.

Whatever Arl Eamon had to say to his lover, it wasn't very encouraging for Alistair's voice suddenly grew louder until it overwhelmed the other senseless din of those chatting about.

"Why? It's because I love him!"

All heads turned towards the fireplace, where Alistair stood in front of the Arl Eamon in an almost threatening manner. Though the man's back was turned to all of them, all the spectators could feel the tension rising between the older man and the bastard Prince of Ferelden. Hadrian pushed off the wall he was leaning against and was about to accost the two when Fergus stopped him.

"Wait and see, brother," Fergus whispered to him. "Perhaps it is time for the future King of Ferelden to step up to the plate."

Arl Eamon appeared a little shocked by the young Prince's declaration but, ever the savvy one, he regained his composure quickly and gifted Alistair a very stern glance.

"Be that as it may, Alistair," the Arl's voice was quiet and calm compared to Alistair's booming tone, "the kingdom will need an heir and..."

"No. You may be able to fool King Cailan into thinking that your way is the best way but not I," Alistair growled lowly.

"And just what is your way?"

"The one built on trust and honor, not secret dealings and such," Alistair replied and, just now noticing that he was the focus of all those who attended the meeting, promptly turned and stormed off towards the main entrance.

"I think that concludes this meeting," Zevran quipped and the elf received a few disapproving states, to which he easily shrugged it off.

Hadrian, on the other hand, walked after Alistair and no one else followed after him, perhaps having gained some entertainment already from observing an altercation between the Arl and the bastard Prince.

-TBC-

A/N: This chapter was one of the most hardest to write as I tried to convey the feeling of Alistair becoming more self-confident thanks to Hadrian's influence. Please comment as I would love to hear more from the readers. To those who have reviewed the last chapter, thank you very much! :D It means a lot to me when reading over reviews.


	60. The Bear and The Wolf

**Chapter 60: The Bear and the Wolf**

Finally, the up and coming Landsmeet had been called upon and the wolf stirred restlessly within Hadrian, aching to manifest itself and clamp its jaws on that traitorous Howe's throat The two week trek from Redcliffe Castle would have drained the man's energy but the prospect of meeting up (and killing) those responsible for his family's death rejuvenated him as quickly as if Wynne had cast that spell on him.

The young Cousland wasn't the only person so relieved to finally see the fruits of their labour come to bear. Alistair and everyone else, even Sten, let out sighs of relief at the sight of the Arl's estate nested just inside Denerim's gate. Everyone in the group knew that this was the beginning of the end and, with nothing to detract them from the final goal, they were all focused on seeing their journey with Hadrian come to an end.

Unfortunately, any hopes of resting up before the Landsmeet was cut shortly with the sudden appearance of two imposing figures that started the Civil War and Hadrian barely contained his seething anger at the sight of that long, hawkish face. It was only thanks to the steady presence standing proudly at his side that Hadrian didn't listen to his beastly instincts and attack the smug looking Howe.

"Arl Eamon," the taller man growled out as he came to a stop before the elder noble. His sycophants, a young female Knight and Arl Howe, stood slightly behind the self-proclaimed Queen's Regent. "And what's this? Your hired group of mercenaries?"

"They do seem like mercenaries, so well-armed and rough of demeanor," Howe's comment, dry and sniding, didn't surprise the Arl or rather, he well-schooled his facial features to not show depict any surprises.

"Teyrn Loghain," Arl Eamon smoothly replied and the elder man's eyes narrowed at the sight of Howe's armor. There, etched on his right shoulder, was the symbol of Denerim, signifying the slender man as Arl of Denerim as well as to any other titles he may hold.

Apparently, Loghain noticed what Arl Eamon was looking at so avidly and he laughed but it was devoid of any warm friendliness the two powerful men could have held for each other.

"Arl Howe is my appointed advisor as well as the new Teyrn of Highever and Arl of Denerim." Howe bowed slightly but his eyes did not greet the stoned floor like a respectful nobleman. Instead, they were fixed on the young face standing next to Arl Eamon.

"So many titles for one man to hold," the young man said in a polite tone, "and of Highever as well? However did you manage that? Under the dark of night with a cloak and dagger?"

"Silence, you cur! You are speaking to your betters!" The female knight barked at the young man, who just greeted her with a familiar smile

"And you are speaking to the last survivor of the Couslands, a family higher than yours, Ser Cauthrien," Hadrian replied in a deep tone.

Ser Cauthrien grimaced and tension thickened even more between the two opposing groups.

"Enough! We shall settle any grievances at the Landsmeet but mark my words, no one will besmirch my Queen's rule with lies and betrayal."

Hadrian wanted to counter that but Arl Eamon subtly shook his head at him, telling the young nobleman that this wasn't the time or place to mention a possible rival to Loghain's power. Instead, all he could do was clench his jaw in anger and watch as the three visitors proudly walked back to whence they came. As they did so, Hadrian couldn't help but notice a small dagger hanging slightly from Howe's belt. Blue jewels covered the hilt in an elegant fashion and, while no blood was seen dripping off the edge, Hadrian swore that he smelt it, the scent of a fellow Cousland having been freshly stabbed or murdered. At this sudden revelation, only one thought came to mind, only one name. _Fergus..._

-o0o-

Later that evening and well past the time Fergus was supposed to show up, Hadrian paced erratically along the long rolled out carpet in the antechamber. Normally the incessant pacing would have annoyed everyone but no one had said anything to him.

Instead, Alistair merely watched him from afar with a concerned look while both Leliana and Wynne whispered to themselves, commenting on how late the elder Cousland was. The others were sent with Fergus, as added security in his entourage to set Hadrian's mind at ease; unfortunately, their absence only increased his anxiety even more so.

"Maker damn it," Hadrian cursed softly, not because he didn't want the curse to upset Leliana but that the other option would be to scream and rant instead. His inner wolf itched and clawed at the edges of his humanity; this restlessness could only mean one thing and Hadrian's fingers twitched around the hilt of his short dagger.

They would have waited far longer were it not for the sudden appearance of Arl Eamon himself, along with a slender elven woman.

"I'm afraid I have poor news," Arl Eamon began to say, "but Anora is-"

"My Queen is in trouble and needs your help," the elven woman rudely interrupted the Arl; her interruption caused the audience to raise the eyebrows as no elf, not even one in a high station such as her, would dare to speak out of place to higher nobles. However, no one said anything of the sort. It wasn't out of courtesy for the young lady but rather that all felt the need to hear the story or excuse for her presence as quickly as possible.

"I am sorry, milords. I am Queen Anora's handmaiden, Erina and she sent me to relay a message of her imprisonment by Arl Howe."

The young elf's eyes briefly cast downwards, as if trying to think of what to say next, before finally glancing up at both Alistair and Hadrian. She was quite pretty indeed; of course, all men found female elves pretty to look at. Her brown hair was kept in a tidy bun, thus allowing her face to appear fuller, with dark brown eyes and a small pointed nose occupying what space was left by her cheeks and small forehead. The curves of her body were accentuated by her attire of Orlesian fashion-dark colours bordering lighter shades down her torso and legs. Had Erina conversed with a normal Ferelden man, she would be immediately be the centre of attention and groped upon as well. However, her form, while certainly attractive, could never ultimately seduce the two men and Erina's awareness of that showed in how quickly but clearly she tried to explain the Queen's situation.

Hadrian's fists clenched even tighter at the unfortunate news and while his heart urged him to investigate the reason why Fergus hadn't appeared yet, logic and reason broke through when he realized that Queen Anora's plight, should it be ignored, could no doubt be a major political blunder for both him and Alistair. Also, the mere mention of Arl Howe being personally responsible for his imprisonment cemented his decision on rescuing the Queen, no matter if it sounded exactly like a trap.

Once Erina had given them the message, the handmaiden was escorted out of the estate by a guard and it was only then that the others finally gave their opinions on the matter.

"It is a trap; of that I have no doubt," Leliana spoke out and the redhaired archer sighed heavily. She had hoped for a quick respite from all the traveling the party had done just to get to Arl Eamon's estate.

"I know it's a trap," Hadrian replied and his hand squeezed Alistair's shoulder. The blonde man nodded and the other three members could only wonder what the two could be communicating in their silent world.

"Leliana, Wynne, Alistair and I are going to rescue the Queen," Hadrian voiced out his objective to the Arl. "The worst case scenario is that we're all going to be imprisoned and be implicated in Queen Anora's plight. However, it would also show to the general populace that our opposition has qualms about putting a Theirin on the throne as well."

"Are you quite sure about this plan of action of yours?" Arl Eamon's genuine concern touched Hadrian, who just shrugged his shoulders in reply.

"Right about now, the only thing I'm sure is that Arl Howe's head will be on a stick at the end of all this," Hadrian casually said and the tall warrior bowed respectfully to Arl Eamon before taking his leave, his companions marching right behind him without any commands from their leader.

"I sincerely hope you're right," Arl Eamon muttered quietly to himself, "or imprisonment will be the least of your worries."

-o0o-

Unbearable agony was what woke him up from the smothering darkness of unconsciousness. Shrieks and screams drummed effortlessly against his eardrums followed by a quiet whisper that spoke harshly to him.

"Wake up."

Ice-cold water splashed against his face and chest, shocking him from his stupor only to have him open his swollen eyes.

There, standing in front of him, was the man who was solely responsible for his family's downfall and subsequent murder.

"Rendon Howe," he spat out the name only to receive a fierce backhand from the man himself.

"You shall address me as _Arl_ Howe of Highever, of Denerim," the man sneered and he gave another bloodletting slap to the prisoner's face. "Yes, your defiance is still there in those despicable eyes of yours. Eyes of a wolf that doesn't know it's about to die. Just like your father and mother."

"We...we trusted you..." Fergus managed to say, "despite our instincts telling us not to."

"Ah yes, _your instincts._ I am curious as to how your family gained these preternatural qualities. They're inhuman, beastly, and certainly not worthy of the title of Highever. Your line has long been cursed, even before the family's near slaughter by King Arland's order. Have you ever wondered why I killed your parents?"

Fergus refused to listen to the man's hissing voice but at the same time he had wanted to know the reason behind Howe's deplorable actions.

"Because that castle guards something that could be the key to winning the war against the Blight, even Orlais itself. It whispers to me, hounds my sleep with its incessant suggestions of victory against my enemies. The only way to shut it out is to obey its wishes. Of course, the resentment of your family's successes need not have been driven by this shadow. I hated your father long before I discovered her and thus it was not necessary for her seduction of myself.

"Thus, I sought out the need to capture Highever but even with the capture of it, with the effortless slaying of your parents, they had all but disappeared, taking their precious blood and organs with them. The dead can't walk and the only way I can obtain Cousland blood is to capture you or your brother, which was a farce.

"And yet, it is ironic to see the same person who failed in his mission to capture Hadrian had become successful in leading my men to capture you at long last. What was his name? Ah yes, Zevran. It's a shame that he is not here with you but rather getting heavily involved with the guards."

The implication behind Howe's words enraged Fergus and he attempted to lash out at the Arl who simply laughed, apparently amused by his captive's weak retribution. The Arl Howe merely kicked the bound Cousland in the centre of his chest, knocking Fergus back into the harsh stone wall and having him gasp for breath.

"I was told to wait until the next full moon to fully drain you of all that corrupted blood inside of you." Howe whispered to him, thin lips a mere breadth away from his ear, "But right now, that bitch isn't here to stop me from finishing off the last scions of the Cousland family."

With that said, the only sound coming from the special prison of where Fergus was held, was the prisoner's screams, echoed by howls of agony that chilled even the most stoic of the guards posted at the prison cell's entrance.

The howls pounded throughout the entire prison and the guards themselves unwittingly prayed to the Maker to make it stop. Their prayers was answered in the most unlikely form-another guard bearing a message addressed to Arl Howe personally.

"Milord, we've news of intruders into the prison as well as the other prisoners having escaped from their cells."

The tortured screams suddenly stopped and the messenger wondered if perhaps whoever the unfortunate soul was had thankfully died and escaped Howe's insidious clutches. However, low soft moans drifted through the air and Howe stepped forward, his hands crimson and sticky. The Arl Howe casually wiped the blood off using the messenger's own tunic even as his other hand dragged a clean dagger across the poor man's throat. Coal eyes stared coldly at the dying man before regarding the dark entrance.

"Alert my personal entourage. These intruders will soon join my poor guest. After all, misery loves company."

The guards quickly obeyed him as the pair walked briskly to alert Howe's mages and two other mercenaries, not wanting to meet the same fate as the messenger for their idleness. The exigency of the intrusion blinded all to the dark shadow that hid behind the door of another room and it moved quickly into the almost vacant room.

A pained sound escaped the shadow at the sight of the limp figure hanging from its chains, the arms outstretched so painfully that the new visitor wondered how the shoulders were simply not pulled out of their sockets. However, knowing that time was of the essence before more guards would be posted outside, the visitor quickly pulled out a small metal pin from his blonde hair and slipped it inside the manacles, smiling at how easily it clicked into place. Once the hand was free, he gently clasped the unconscious prisoner around the waist to bear the weight before doing the same thing to the other hand.

Fergus moaned and it was quietened by a gentle press of lips against his.

"Sshh, mi amor. I've got you," the visitor said and he cradled his lover against his chest, allowing his other hand free to snatch a small vial from a pouch as well as a small injury kit. "We must hurry, however, before your host reappears and continues his torment of you, yes?"

"...Zev..." Fergus opened his eyes and the hurt behind them pulled at Zevran's heart. However, now was not the time nor place to convince Fergus that Zevran was indeed here and not simply a hallucination brought about by his torture. Instead, Zevran dressed Fergus' wound, ignoring the agonized hiss, as quickly and gently as possible before lifting the heavier man up and draping his left shoulder across his own. Fergus was a heavy man and it took all of the elf's willpower to not stagger underneath the extra weight. Thankfully, with Fergus slightly conscious and thus supporting his own weight as best as he could, Zevran managed to keep them both upright, at least enough to drag him out of the torture chamber and into the next room where he hid previously. Before he closed the door, however, he marked it with a simple scratch from his dagger for he knew that Hadrian's keen sense of smell would eventually lead him and his party to this particular door. All the assassin could now hope for was for them to find the pair before Howe and that Fergus can be seen by Wynne soon.

-TBC-

A/N: Yes, I'm still alive but also expecting a baby girl. There's just so much work to be done outside this story and a few others too but hopefully the story will be finished before DA3 comes out.

So, since we're almost done with this story, I welcome any comments, especially regarding a possible sequel, and would love to hear from you all soon! Many thanks to those who still review this long epic and all questions will be answered soon! :D


	61. Wolf's Vengeance

**Wolf's Vengeance**

"You know what my mother used to tell me?" Morrigan's dulcet tones echoed rather eerily throughout the dungeon tunnel the group were walking into. Her new attire of Tevinter in origin provided the dark-haired witch an extra boost to mana regeneration as well as improving spellpower. Black feathers covered her shoulders and stayed there, despite the constant walking and fighting. How the tailor managed to prevent feathers from naturally falling off was news to Hadrian but the young noble's mind was elsewhere.

"Vengeance is best enjoyed from the darkness," the witch continued, determined perhaps to revert the Warden's attention back to her at least.

"Hmmm, I'm pretty sure there was a lot of darkness back then, Morrigan," Alistair joked, all the while keeping an eye on his lover. The blonde warrior's concern for the other man was visible to all members of the group, including Morrigan. However, Hadrian's pace clearly indicated that the Warden did not care for it, at least not now and Alistair actually understood it. He didn't like the fact that Hadrian was pushing aside his concern but he understood all too well the implications of who the dungeon currently belonged too.

"Quiet, you two," Hadrian suddenly said and he lifted a hand to motion them to a stop. The dark tunnel curved to the right and three rooms appeared in front of them. All had wooden doors with bars of steel reaching from the ground to the top. Of course their enemies were just lying in wait on the other side of those doors and Hadrian was very glad to have brought Leliana with him.

"Leli, you still got those traps I bought for you a while back?"

The redhead smiled wickedly and she didn't need to be told twice to go into stealth mode. Almost immediately, she was all but invisible to her friends. Only Alistair and Hadrian could guess where she was by her particular scent of Andraste's Grace. Setting up traps took some time; excellent ones that could take out a whole group of people took even longer but the threesome knew that it would work to their favor.

The redhead briskly strolled back to them, a huge grin plastered on her pale face.

"Whenever you're ready," she singsonged and both warriors could only shake their heads at their archer's eagerness to see how well the traps would do in this cramped area.

"Alright, I'm going to open all the doors and led them back to us," Hadrian said and his voice was almost lost in the clear tang of his greatsword being pulled from its straps. "Morrigan, use inferno for any who were lucky enough to escape the traps."

"I do love to play with fire," Morrigan laughed, "and other things too."

"Ugh, please spare us the details of your recreational activities," Alistair moaned and the blonde warrior positioned himself ahead of the two ladies. The tunnel served as a choking point and Alistair wanted to make sure that no one was going to get by him to attack the least hardy members.

Morrigan, not wanting to have Alistair have the last word, was about to reply with a comment on how loud the two Wardens can be in the middle of the night when shouts and cries of pain erupted at the end of the tunnel they were in. The blonde templar was severely tempted to check on how Hadrian was doing but he trusted his lover's skills. His wolf would certainly tell him if Hadrian was in serious danger.

"Bringing the party to you, Morrigan! Make sure I'm out of range first!" Another shout reverberated off the stone walls and Morrigan found it quite comical to see a two-handed warrior running towards them, with a greatsword held tightly in one hand and being followed by a huge mass of cutthroats and mages.

Once Hadrian put a good distance between him and the person behind him, Morrigan muttered a few words of incantation and the screams of frustration and 'get him!' quickly turned into agonized screams and death rattles.

Of course, a solid wall of fire tended to increase the temperature of its environment. The dungeon, no longer the cold and bloody establishment of a deranged Arl, became an intolerable sauna instead and everyone had to back even further away from the flames.

"Ugh, now I'm sweating like Alistair," Morrigan's complaint only drew more laughter from the group.

"At least you didn't burn my hair this time," Hadrian chuckled and then yelped as the witch returned the comment with a light spark of lightning.

The party's light banter, however, died down as quickly as the fire did; only ashes of their enemies remained. As the foursome carefully made their way past the now empty rooms, the dungeon had become deadly silent, more so than usual, and suddenly, the hairs on the back of Hadrian's neck stood up as the young Cousland smelled something horrible- of blood, bile, and betrayal.

"Howe," Hadrian hissed and the warrior clenched his fists when the smell lead him to a locked room near another set of stairs. Instead of merely opening the doors, the man kicked it down and the door, apparently weaker than its counterparts, easily broke into pieces. Howe already knew they were here and thus stealth was no longer an option.

There, standing with a smug look on that long face, was Howe, the man responsible for his family's deaths. Hadrian wanted to wipe that smile off his nemesis' face; he wanted to slice his daggers across that delicate throat and tear out everything inside of Howe. His need for vengeance almost overtook his rational thought and it was with a great and deliberate effort to rein in his hatred. Hadrian had questions and dead men can't give answers. At least for now.

"And so Bryce's spoiled brat has come to pay me a visit without prior invitation. Such rudeness is beneath your family."

"Why did you betray us, Howe? Were we not good to you? What could we possibly have done to deserve this?"

Howe's dark brown eyes flashed angrily at the questions asked of him and the Arl sneered in answer, all the while drawing out a beautifully crafted axe and a dagger.

"Wouldn't you like to know your family's darkest secrets? The ones told to an Orlais confidente of a debt that must be repaid?"

"Orlais? We have family in Orlais but that is all," Hadrian scoffed in reply, "A word with meaning that simply eludes you, _Arl _Howe."

"Don't spit your lies at me! I know of what your father did in the darkest of nights! But she will punish you. Oh yes, you will all burn upon her return!"

Arl Howe's rants confused everyone, especially Hadrian who had no idea of what his nemesis could be talking about. However, the sudden throwing of a dagger that embedded itself into Hadrian's shoulder startled all out of their thoughts. Hadrian snarled in anger at how careless he was and he pulled the dagger from his body only to throw it at the mage that skulked in the shadows. An agonized cry heralded a successful hit and soon he found himself fighting the Arl himself.

Arl Howe was certainly spry for an older man and his deft footwork pushed Hadrian on the defensive. A greatsword's speed was no match for those of a dagger and an axe; however, the Arl hadn't counted on Hadrian's friends quickly dispatching his minions with terrible ease.

Alistair actually feared for his lover's life but something stopped him from delivering a fatal blow.

_Let him taste our enemy's final moments; he will never forgive us if we take that from him._

The blonde warrior growled in frustration for he knew that the wolf was right; Hadrian would resent him for taking away the opportunity to kill Howe, even if it meant having his life saved. Thus, he could only helplessly watch his lover parry Howe's swift slashes and he was just about to step at the last second when Hadrian was abruptly knocked to the ground, the greatsword clattering uselessly to the ground, far out of his lover's reach.

Before either Alistair or even Morrigan could make a move, however, Arl Howe staggered back before falling down himself. Blood spurted out of Arl Howe's throat and his hand clutched at the hilt of the dagger, the same one he had thrown at Hadrian. How ironic it was that he was to die from his own weapon.

Hadrian groaned as he struggled to get up, one hand grasping his own shoulder wound while another clenched into a tight fist. Before anyone could stop him, not that they wanted to in particular, the young Cousland knelt on Howe's chest and he ruthlessly pulled out the dagger only to plunge it back into the Arl's throat. Uncaring that blood splattered all across his face, Hadrian continued to stab at his enemy's throat, screaming that it was for his family, for the horrid rape and subsequent death of his brother's wife, for the torture of his only nephew who never got to find out what a griffon was.

The man kept at it, even when the Arl Howe was long past dead. Only a pair of golden gauntlets halted his screaming tirade and a familiar voice whispered lovingly in his ear, "shhh...it's over...he's dead,"

Hadrian released the knife and his eyes grew horrified at what he had done to Arl Howe. The Arl How's face was barely recognizable now as it was hacked into indiscriminately. Eyes were no longer eyes, only a gelled mess of broken cells and blood vessels. The throat was shredded into pieces, with the trachea glistening brightly against a crimson background.

Hadrian wanted to wipe off the blood of his enemy but he couldn't and he sobbed at how even in death, Arl Howe managed to stain everything that Hadrian owned, that he was with his evil taint.

"Come on, love," Alistair said in a low tone, "we need to get out of here before more guards come."

Both Morrigan and Leliana became concerned at how easily Alistair pulled the other man, at how Hadrian couldn't really stand on his own two legs and had to be supported by him. Morrigan muttered a quick incantation of a spell that healed everyone's wounds. However, no healing spell could ever heal the hurts of a broken and shocked mind. Only time could heal those types of wounds.

It was only by sheer luck that the other three managed to not only free the prisoners who were held in the back room of where they fought Arl Howe and his minions but to find their missing friends in the next room.

Zevran made a slight 'tsk' noise at the sight of Hadrian's shocked state and Morrigan sighed out of exasperation when she had to heal the man Zevran was standing over protectively.

"Two Couslands down in one day," Morrigan muttered, "'Tis a good thing that Hadrian insisted on me learning the healing spells in Wynne's absence."

Fergus moaned during the process of his muscles and skin knitting themselves back into their proper place. Other than that, however, he stayed unconscious and Zevran sighed heavily.

"Leliana, perhaps a helping hand?"

"Normally, I would say no," the red-haired archer replied with a small smile, "but this is not the case of you being lonely, yes?"

"Can we stop the innuendos, please?" Alistair said, "We really need to get out of here and rescue Anora."

"Right," Leliana had the decency to blush due to Alistair's admonishment and she draped Fergus' arm across her shoulder. The man was not as heavy as Hadrian, thank the Maker, but it still took some time for all of them to make their escape.

Unfortunately, their foray into Arl Howe's dungeon and attempt in rescuing Queen Anora only resulted in an unwanted confrontation with Ser Cauthrien and a full platoon of well-armed soldiers. By then, Hadrian had regained his senses, enough so to convince the female Knight to let the others go, including Alistair himself.

"You don't know the whole story," was all Hadrian could say before giving himself up to Ser Cauthrien. Alistair wanted to fight the men off but he respected his lover's decision and directed the others out of the large atrium. The door behind him closed but not before he heard the order from Ser Cauthrien, "knock him out and throw him in the dungeons of Fort Drakon."

He looked back only to see a large burly knight strike his lover across the back of his head with the pummel of his sword. His vision reddened at the sight of his lover falling haplessly against another Knight and he was just about to throw himself at his enemies when Zevran urged Alistair to come away, to not let his sacrifice be wasted.

"You can't rescue him if you're dead, yes?"

Thus, the journey back to Arl Eamon's estate was silent and somber, each party member lost in their own thoughts of what had transpired back in Arl Howe's estate. Queen Anora had indeed shown her true colours upon being revealed as the true purpose of their whole mission and it was understandable that the sight of her made everyone want to slit her throat, most especially Zevran.

"I can't understand why we haven't done it yet," the blonde elf casually remarked, as if murdering a queen of a nation was an everyday chore for him.

"They would have taken him to-" Anora began to say before Alistair entered the room after ensuring that Fergus was well taken care of by Wynne and Leliana.

"Fort Drakon," he finished her sentence and Arl Eamon raised an eyebrow at Queen Anora's icy glare being thrown at the blonde Prince of Ferelden. The man, to his credit, did not wither underneath her piercing, cold gaze but continued on what he was planning on saying.

"Zevran, how's your infiltration skills?"

"Not at all rusty, my friend," Zevran laughed, "but I might need another hand or two. Perhaps a magical one, hmmm?"

"Not even if you were the last male on earth,"Morrigan said dryly and she crossed her arms over her bosom, perhaps denying the elf a look at her chest.

"No, I think Wynne should go with you, Zev. Her healing skills will undoubtedly come in handy in this situation. Also, I doubt that low class soldiers will treat a noble so kindly as a prisoner," Alistair's dark statement earned him some silence from his companions, especially Zevran, who was all too familiar with the dark lust of men and women.

"Then all the more reason to hurry," Zevran agreed with Alistair and the lithe elf bowed respectfully to his friend before exiting out of the room in search for Wynne.

"I shall retire to my room," Anora's tone was neutral at best but even Alistair could tell that she was unhappy with her situation. However, he curtailed his caustic comments enough to give her a nod of acknowledgment and he watched with wary eyes at her back, straight and poise as ever.

"So, what exactly happened down there?" Arl Eamon asked once Anora was out of sight and out of hearing range.

"Well...for starters..."

-TBC-

A/N: Slightly different from the scenes in the game, but hey that's what AU stands for, right? I'm sooo excited for DA: Inquisition and I already found my favourite pairing-Dorian/Male Inquisitor. What's yours and why?


	62. A Welcomed Rescue

**A Welcomed Rescue**

It wasn't the shrieks of tortured men nor the incessant heavy tramping of armored men patrolling the area that awoke Hadrian from his stupor but rather the lack of it. The silence was perhaps more frightening than the denizens' ignored pleas for help and it chilled the waking man to his bones, more so than seeing abominations back in the Circle of Magi or the horrific broodmother borne of a captured female being forced to eat her own friends and family.

Another frightening fact was his naked state, except for a sparse loincloth that just barely covered his private areas. Luckily, his jailers did not see to bind his hands and, while he was no rogue, he had learned some useful skills of breaking out of captivity.

"There's no use thinkin' of escaping, young un," a raspy voice called out to Hadrian and the nobleman turned his attention to another prisoner from a different cell. A wrinkled face peered at him with small beady black eyes and the older man was also unclothed. The years of being held in a cell were not kind to him for lesions dotted his shoulders as well as dark bruises that refused to go away.

"This is Fort Drakon, isn't it?" Hadrian asked politely. He visited this place only once, but only towards the entrance, where torture devices were not in plain sight of faint-hearted nobles. While the young man abhorred torture more than anything else, he knew the necessity of it. He also knew how "well" the victims were treated as rumors were rife amongst guards and errand boys. Daily beatings, waterboarding, even rape were dealt out almost with morbid glee from the Fort's caretakers. Being of noble birth and thus imprisoned here gave Hadrian a hint at a macabre future for him if he dallied too long in this horrid place.

"Don't rightly know the name but it sounds about right. There's no escapin' from here. Trust me, I tried."

The older prisoner showed him a stumpless arm, where the hand had been cleanly chopped off. "Tried to escape once and had me hand chopped off! Was gonna go for the head but apparently they were bringing you here."

"How are their patrols around here?" Hadrian asked and the older man raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Come to think of it, they don't patrol here no more. Not since the last lot of prisoners were brought here from Highever. Poor sods. Could hear their screaming night and day...that redhead man...he was the last to scream..."

"What? What did you say?" Hadrian couldn't believe his ears and he stopped what he was doing to regard the old man with a puzzled glare.

"Weren't you listenin'? I said that patrols lessened after that last batch of prisoners from Highever."

Hadrian scowled and his fists clenched at the horrid revelation. Not only did Howe take his castle but he had to torture the innocent people who once served his family for several generations at least. All that legacy gone in an instant due to a man's pride and greed.

_The snake has been defeated and yet its venom still lingers. Find your way out and seek your Alpha. Together, wrongs can be righted once more and justice will prevail._

As if on cue, voices could be heard and then suddenly they quietened, only to be replaced by quiet thuds and death rattles. Hadrian tensed as the footsteps got closer and closer until they stopped right before his prison door. The old man for his part stayed quiet throughout the whole event until his eyes widened in surprise.

"A mage? What's a mage doin' in here of all places?"

"You see, Wynne? Even an old man appreciates a well-endowed woman such as yourself," the voice quipped in a familiar Antivan accent.

"Must you go on about that?" A female voice. Also familiar and Hadrian was never happier than he was now to hear Wynne and Zevran arguing right outside his door. If it wasn't for his rather precarious situation, the young man would have burst out laughing. Instead, he merely grinned as the lock _clicked_ and the heavy wooden door swung open.

"Ah my dear Warden. It is good to see you in one piece, yes?" The dark-skinned elf gave Hadrian a wide smile, one that showed healthy white teeth, before giving him a small key. Wynne just gave a little huff and placed a hand on Hadrian's bare shoulder, apparently not minding his near naked state.

After a few moments of searching for possible injuries, including of a sexual nature, and thankfully finding none, she nodded to Hadrian.

"You are surprisingly not injured, Hadrian," Wynne remarked in a grateful tone and for that she was glad. Who knows what Alistair could have done if Hadrian had been discovered to be violated like that.

"Well, I doubt that would have lasted long if you two hadn't come along," Hadrian replied with a small smile. "Zev, can you set that old man free too?"

Zev just crossed his arms and gave Hadrian an unbelievable look, as if he was trying to say that he just did not infiltrate a large, almost impenetrable fortress only to rescue an old man who clearly could not reward them for his timely rescue.

"Aw come on, Zev? You went through all this trouble to rescue me. What's another guy?" Hadrian made a motion with his head and the assassin of course made a big deal about it, muttering about even with the Crows he only did the mission and that was it. No innocents to rescue and not getting paid either way.

However, for his lover's sibling, Zevran would pretty much do anything for Hadrian and the elf tinkered with the door. The old prisoner's much relieved face was rewarding enough but the stench...oh Maker...

Zevran almost wanted to gag at the putrid smell the old man emanated and he hurriedly followed Wynne and Hadrian, who were at the main entrance door to collect the latter's supplies. Thankfully, the only things on Hadrian's person were just his armor and his greatsword.

As he equipped both armor and weapon, Zevran had already left the premises to scout the path ahead and Wynne patiently waited for the man to finish getting ready. Once Hadrian was set, the trio skillfully made their way through the Fort Drakon. While Hadrian truly desired to stay back and kill some of the soldiers left behind, especially those who bore the Howe's symbol of a large bear on their shields, time was of the essence and it was miraculously without incident that the trio found themselves outside Fort Drakon.

Hadrian didn't know whether he should be worried or happy that no one tried to stop their escape; however, he couldn't complain about it either and it was with great haste that he led his friends to Arl Eamon's estate.

By the time they arrived, the sun was well on its way to the horizon and shadows of the buildings loomed ahead of them. The usual hustle and bustle of the marketplace had dwindled down with the sun's descent and, if anyone saw the trio walking rather briskly to the large estate on the west side of Denerim, none pointed them out to the guards walking about. The whole rescue incident was rather strange, as if the Maker himself was shielding the trio from unfriendly eyes.

Warm arms engulfed his being upon entering the atrium of the Arl's estate and Hadrian almost choked out a laugh if the situation he had been in wasn't so dire. Instead, he merely huffed a relieved sigh before returning the embrace, made a little uncomfortable by the armor both men wore. His ears burned a little out of embarassment when the embrace endured a little longer than appropriate but no one said anything as of yet, not even Wynne, who was prone to breaking up their reunions at the most inopportune times.

"You're safe..." Alistair whispered softly, voice cracking a little bit at the end.

"Hey, I'm alright," Hadrian wanted to pull back from the embrace for they had an audience but then he realized that both Wynne and Zevran had already left the room.

With some privacy given finally after all that hectic mess of breaking into Arl Howe's dungeon and ultimately being rescued from Fort Drakon, Hadrian's body decided to have a breakdown, much to his chagrin.

Tears came unbidden to his eyes and one sob became several ones until Hadrian found himself crying into Alistair's warm throat. The armor's metallic smell of dragonbone laced with silverite was strong but underneath it laid the scent of an Alpha-powerful, musky, and oddly comforting. Hadrian would have reveled in it but his mind was focused elsewhere. He could still hear that nasal tone of Howe when the late Arl mocked him and his family. The hideous visage of Howe in his death throes haunted Hadrian and his body shuddered at how violently he mangled Howe's throat, even when the latter was well past feeling the agony of the stab wounds. Even in death, Howe continued to haunt him, to taint him and Hadrian swore he could still feel the hot blood scalding his face.

"Sshh," a warm husky voice soothed in his ear, "it's over. You're here, with me."

"I...I killed him..." was all Hadrian managed to say. "But my family...they're still dead..."

"And are resting better because you avenged them, Rian," Alistair's unusual moniker for him normally would have elicited an exasperated sigh but Hadrian said nothing. Instead, the young man leaned even further against his lover, taking comfort in the strong body that sheltered him from the outside world, at least for now.

When the sobs gradually ceased, Alistair pulled back to see if Hadrian was better only to find that the latter had fallen into a grief-stricken slumber. The young Prince just smiled at his lover and he gently carried the exhausted Cousland up to their bedchamber, all the while thinking that Arl Eamon would just have to wait a bit longer for his report.

-o0o-

Arl Eamon calmly listened to Queen Anora's own view of events, from the unusual way her father returned to the capital to her rescue. Though her details were quite accurate, the noble was perceptive enough to know that she withheld some information regarding her father's true intentions for the throne of Ferelden. Family always comes first in Ferelden and he could not blame her for not fully showing her hands until allies and foes were better categorized in her mind. Such as it is, Alistair was clearly not a welcomed ally but a necessary at that. Her derogatory tone whenever Alistair was mentioned in her anecdotes told Arl Eamon that Queen Anora could quite possibly be a dangerous enemy if her bid for the throne was not supported by the Warden.

Thus, after Hadrian recovered and was able to speak to the both of them, Arl Eamon commented that Anora could have avoided all this by sending a messenger to the Warden. She ultimately had her handmaiden serve as a spy and plenty of resources at hand to see it done, regardless of her father's position as regent.

Hadrian wholeheartedly agreed for all noble families had their own private network of spies. Even the Couslands partook in this but theirs was more for defensive purposes rather than assassinations. When Anora left, with her back straight and in a slow, unhurried pace, Arl Eamon warned the young man that he should be wary of Anora's own schemes and to see if she would help them or not. Hadrian gave him a look of suspicion as well, as if saying that he too was wary of Arl Eamon's true motives in wanting Alistair on the throne. However, he was too polite to say anything and as such promptly left the room, probably to speak with Anora in a more private setting.

The old man chuckled underneath his breath and silently praised his old friend, Bryce Cousland, for having raised such a fine young man. He would certainly do well in the Royal Court and perhaps he would be a good match for the young Prince, despite him being a man.

It wasn't uncommon for Kings or Queens to have a more desirable lover at their side, while being married to another out of propriety and the need to continue the royal line. The only obstacle left in the lovers' path is to find a healthy young noblewoman who would please both Alistair and Hadrian while providing Alistair the means to have an heir. That indeed could be a problem but Arl Eamon was sure that, like anything else, the Wardens would succeed where others have failed before.

-TBC-

A/N: I apologize for the delay but with the recent passing of my father-in-law, more important things have come up. So... yeah... dealing with that and preparing for the baby makes life even more hectic than normal. I really hope to finish before DA 3 comes out but we'll see what happens. Thanks again for reading and have a great end to the summer before school starts!


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